


Take Me For A Ride

by alxndrlightwoods



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: (This is Not what the Clave meant Alec), Alec Lightwood Has a Praise Kink, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fast and Furious, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Attempt(s), Battle, Blasphemy, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Body Horror, Bondage, Bruises, Car Sex, Cock Rings, Consent Issues, Crying, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom Magnus Bane, Dom/sub, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Eventual Happy Ending, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Magical Realism, Marking, Mild Painplay, Minor Character Death, Murder, Murder Kink, Needles, On Hiatus, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Piercings, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Public Claiming, Public Sex, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Riding, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Alec Lightwood, Sex Magic, Slurs, Sub Alec Lightwood, Subspace, Torture, Undercover As Prostitute, Undercover Missions, Unethical Experimentation, Unreliable Narrator, Vibrators, War, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-03-17 15:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alxndrlightwoods/pseuds/alxndrlightwoods
Summary: “Lightwood, you have petitioned us for a…stayon the kill order to be placed on your parabatai, Jonathan Morgenstern,” the Inquisitor starts, and Alec has to stop his flinch at the name they use for Jace now. “The Clave has decided to grant your request… but there will be a cost.”It is almost without hesitation that Alec says, “Name it.”“There is word of a… faction of downworlders who are considering an alliance with Valentine,” the Inquisitor says. She’s surprisingly cautious in how she says it, especially when she’s probably going to send Alec in to deal with it. He can’t think of any other reason for her to bring it up like this. “We need someone to go undercover amongst the downworld and report back to us whenever anything is discovered.”Alec sees the subtext.It’s a suicide mission, and as a gay man and Jonathan Morgenstern’s parabatai, you’re expendable.





	1. montar o morir

**Author's Note:**

> If you think we've missed tagging something, _please tell us._

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Clave works fast. His files have already been updated.
> 
> ‘Alexander Whitelaw’ stares at him from the top of the page. Alec ignores the vice tightening in his chest and gets to work.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he gets called to stand in front of the Clave. He knows they’ve been talking about infiltrating the downworld, and he knows that every meeting in the past week has been about that plan, but he doesn’t know what _he_ has to do with all of this.

Although, he supposes, he’s soon going to find out.

“Alexander Lightwood,” the Inquisitor says, “come before the tribune.”

Alec does. He’s always been loyal — always had to be, with who he is, or he risks being deruned or exiled — and he’ll always follow orders in the end. Sometimes, he hates that; hates that he _has_ to be perfect, has to stay within the Clave. He needs to be here — for Isabelle, still a shadowhunter and still a part of the Clave; for Jace, gone to Valentine and trying, desperately, to uncover who betrayed them to him.

He needs to be here because being a shadowhunter is all he has left.

“Lightwood, you have petitioned us for a… _stay_ on the kill order to be placed on your parabatai, Jonathan Morgenstern,” the Inquisitor starts, and Alec has to stop his _flinch_ at the name they use for Jace now. “The Clave has decided to grant your request… but there will be a cost.”

It is almost without hesitation that Alec says, “Name it.”

“There is word of a… faction of downworlders who are considering an alliance with Valentine,” the Inquisitor says. She’s surprisingly cautious in how she says it, especially when she’s probably going to send Alec in to deal with it. He can’t think of any other reason for her to bring it up like this. “We need someone to go undercover amongst the downworld and report back to us whenever anything is discovered.”

Alec sees the subtext. _It’s a suicide mission, and as a gay man and Jonathan Morgenstern’s parabatai, you’re expendable._

“If I take this,” he says, “you’ll stay the kill order on Jace?”

“Yes,” the Inquisitor says.

This time, he doesn’t even hesitate.

“Deal.”

* * *

By the time he’s back in the institute, he can already _feel_ the difference. He’d been ‘escorted’ back to the portal, after they were done — his _parabatai_ rune _stings_ under whatever they’d done to it — and Alec doesn’t even pretend it’s for his benefit.

They want to make sure no one sees Alec, can talk to him, before Alec leaves.

The institute is quiet. They’re on stand-by, awaiting Clave judgement for Jace’s _defection,_ and the term leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. No one is around — with the curfew in effect, everyone is locked in their rooms, waiting for the morning, hoping that _this day_ will be the day that the sword is pulled away from their necks.

It will be. Alec just won’t be here to see it.

He has limited time; if he’s not _out_ by the time curfew ends, the deal is off, so he breaks into his mother’s office before anything else.

The Clave works fast. His files have already been updated.

‘Alexander Whitelaw’ stares at him from the top of the page. Alec ignores the vice tightening in his chest and gets to work.

He’s got a personal account — the Lightwoods aren’t as _elite_ as they used to be, but Alec has something of an inheritance — and he empties every cent of it into the Whitelaw accounts, which had been _legally_ transferred to him before he left Alicante.

There’s… a lot, he finds, when he checks his new account, after the wire transfer is done. Which is good — Alec’s going to need it. If he’s going to get close to Bane, and he _has to,_ he needs to make himself… an attractive asset. And that involves being loud, and flashy, and everything _Alec doesn’t want to be,_ but for Jace? He will be.

The Inquisitor had been _very clear_ that as far as the Clave was concerned, Bane was at the heart of the issue. Clear enough that Alec had been made to go through and memorize Bane’s file before they’d let him leave.

So money. He has it now, and his file is… scrubbed, _Raziel,_ what are they going to tell his sister? They’re going to have to tell her _something_ — their mother won't ask questions, but Izzy would. Izzy _will._

He can’t — he can’t think about this right now. He’s got shit to do.

Because he’s angry, he wipes the entire computer instead of shutting it down. Now _no one_ will be able to tell what Alec did before he left. Bane can get information out of Institutes — the Clave was clear on that — this will help Alec in the long run. And if he did it because he was feeling petty, well. No one can call him on it, not for a _long time._

He doesn’t have a mundane id — doesn’t have a _bank card,_ just an account number — so he doesn’t have to worry about walking around with anything with the wrong name on it. He has his stele, which is the most important thing, and he’s _not leaving_ without his bow, so the only thing left is…

A car.

He knows the Clave has some — he modded one, a while back — and it’s not like they can really _complain_ if he takes one. They didn’t exactly give him  free reign with gear, but a car…

Shadowhunters barely use them anyway. It’d be a blip on their radar.

The Maserati is exactly where he left it. It still looks brand-new, almost shining under the harsh garage lights. Alec trails his hand along the hood, noting the lack of dust. Someone must clean, which is unfortunate — Alec had hoped he’d have more time before they noticed it missing.

It doesn’t matter, in the long run, but he’d _hoped._ He’s always had the worst luck, though. He opens the door, slipping into the driver's seat. The keys, as usual, are tucked into the sun visor, and Alec catches them as they fall, slipping them into the ignition.

When he turns them, the car rumbles to life immediately.

He thinks he falls back in love with driving, just a little bit.

* * *

Alec pulls up to the strip outside Pandemonium to raucous cheers. The downworld is rowdy — always has been, especially in bars like the Hunter’s Moon and clubs like Pandemonium — but  this is the loudest Alec’s ever seen them. There’s an _energy_ to it that he’s never felt before, not even when he raced at the Institute in Mexico.

He loves it and hates it in equal measure. He’s not used to being at places like this, and he’s certainly not used to being the centre of attention, but as he pulls up and climbs out, it feels like every eye is on him.

He has to remember to stay on task, though — he can have fun while racing; can be  uncomfortable under the watchful eye of New York’s downworld, but he has to remember his goal: catch Magnus Bane’s eye, get close to the _High Warlock of Brooklyn,_ and learn as much as he can.

The thing is — everything they had on Magnus Bane did _not_ in any way prepare Alec for seeing the man in person. Everything in the files, all the pictures… they’d painted an image for Alec, made him think he was prepared but he really _really_ isn’t.

Because for all _magical_ intents and purposes, Magnus Bane is the _crowned king_ of the East Coast. Every downworlder not part of an established court — Seelie, Unseelie, or even the Wild Hunt — _answers to him._

Shadowhunters are ruled democratically. Idris, _Alicante,_ is ruled by the Clave, by an elected body. They have no crown, no throne, no _monarch_ the way downworlders do.

But despite all that — they’re part of the downworld. An isolated, _supposedly elite,_ part, but a part nonetheless.

And Alec? Alec, who has no king to swear fealty to? Who has been _cut loose_ by the Clave? Can _feel it._

He’s here, in Magnus Bane’s _court —_ because this strip of road, near Pandemonium, which is Bane’s _throne_ is that — and Bane’s presence is… magnetic. Alec feels hyperaware of the man, even across the _considerable_ distance between them.

Alec thinks, vaguely, that maybe being under the direct protection of the Clave stops Shadowhunters from _feeling_ the draw of Brooklyn’s High Warlock, normally.

Alec does not have the protection of the Clave, anymore. He doesn’t have the protection of _anyone._

And it’s like something in the back of his mind _knows that,_ because —

His shoulders are tight, full of tension that he _knows_ will disappear if he just goes before Bane and _kneels,_ if Alec _swears himself to him._

— it’s like something dark and hungry in him is whispering _“Look. Look and see, you who swears to no crown, to no king. You with no protector, no liege. Look and_ see. _See what can be offered to you, a safe place to_ be.”

Alec _wants that_ and it’s absolutely fucking _terrifying._

Which is, of course, because his luck is _horrendous,_ about when he realises that the guy taking bets — and taking entry payments — is situated right next to Bane’s car. Which means to _join this race,_ he needs to get close to Bane.

He’d need to get close to Bane anyway, because that’s his _job,_ but he thought he’d have more time to prepare himself. Especially now, knowing how Bane’s presence _pulls_ at him, drawing his gaze every few seconds. But he has to get his entry in before the race starts — which is soon, judging by the revving of engines and how the crowd’s cheering is escalating — and that means he _doesn’t_ have time.

He has _now._

Alec pushes his way through the crowd, heading for the bookie and trying desperately to keep his head down and his gaze away from Bane. Alec has a lot of experience in how watching someone can make them look up — both as the watcher and the person being watched. He’s not a fan of drawing Magnus’s attention just yet.

Unfortunately, Alec has _the worst luck._

He gets to the bookie’s booth — which is, like most things here, a car — when a ringed hand lands on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. Alec steps back, looks up and comes face to face with Magnus Bane.

“You’re not a downworlder,” the crowned king of the East Coast drawls, eyes on the side of Alec’s neck, where he’d put his deflect rune years before, “you’re a shadowhunter. What are _you_ doing _here?”_

“Racing,” Alec says, in a move that is probably _immensely_ stupid. “Or, trying to, at least.”

Bane’s grin is full of teeth. He leads Alec away from the bookie, towards — oh fuck — his car, situated in an area with a surprising lack of people milling around. There’s a hand on Alec’s back, blue magic sparking in the corners of his vision in a blatant threat.

This is the ultimate test of his ability to complete this mission. Can he convince _Magnus Bane_ that he’s a gay shadowhunter abandoned by the Clave? More specifically, because that bit is true, _can he convince Magnus Bane that he’s not here to spy on him?_

“Who are _you_ that you want to hang with _downworlders?”_ Bane asks. There’s something distinctly mocking in his tone, like he knows something that Alec doesn’t, and finds that fact immensely entertaining.

“I’m Alec,” he says, entirely prepared to give his entire backstory, if not for the fact that that would… probably be suspicious. If Alec was Head of the Institute and someone told him everything instantly, he would probably be suspicious. Alec should probably not do that.

“Alec,” Bane muses, something dangerous lingering in the way he says that; in the way he _smiles_ as he does. “Short for Alexander, I presume?”

Alec doesn’t get a chance to reply before Bane’s hand is sliding up from his lower back to settle between his shoulders.

“Down,” Bane says absently, giving him a casual shove. Alec’s chest hits the hood with a loud smack. He only barely saves himself from hitting it with his face, too. He hears a few titters of laughter from somewhere nearby, but Alec would like to see _them_ do any better with the fucking High Warlock of Brooklyn manhandling them.

“You know what I think, Alexander?” Bane says, still musing, from above him. He drags his fingers slowly down the curve of Alec’s spine, his rings dragging and catching on the material of Alec’s shirt.

“I think you’re gonna tell me,” Alec returns, trying to get his breathing under control. Fuck. _Fuck_.

“I think you’re here for a much different — and much more specific — reason,” Bane agrees.

“You’ve been watching me,” he continues, hitting the edge of Alec’s shirt where it’s riding up at the small of his back and letting his fingers rest on Alec’s bare skin. “Ever since we met. Ever since you _got here._ A pretty little Nephilim, so far from home, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off me.”

Alec tries to control the hitch in his breath, but the effort is lost to a cut off moan when Bane kicks his ankles apart and sets his hand on Alec’s skin. Alec can’t help the shiver that goes through him, barely swallows another moan when Bane starts sliding his palm up Alec’s back, underneath his shirt.

Bane is close enough that he can hear every noise Alec makes over the crowd. Alec doesn’t know why he’s bothering to try and _not make them,_ because every time Alec tries, Bane hears him anyway and _laughs_ a little.

“I want to know why you’re _actually here,_ Alexander,” Bane says, and that’s — that’s a threat. A promise of what will happen to Alec if Alec _doesn’t talk._

“So you’re gonna fuck me to make me talk?” Alec asks, shifting a little to get his arms in a more comfortable position. He feels ridiculous, or like he _should_ feel ridiculous. He — he can’t decide, because he’s too busy trying to remember how to breathe with Magnus’s hands on him. The man has _barely even touched him._

“Oh, no,” Bane says, _laughs,_ and Alec might be developing a Pavlovian response to Bane’s amusement, “I’m going to fuck you either way. But whether or not you talk decides if I kill you after. And how good a fuck you are… well, that decides how fast that goes for you.”

The threat shouldn’t send a _thrill_ through him, heat curling through him and making him choke down another noise. The _crowd_ on the other hand — they’re thrilled, like this is what they expected. A rush of noise goes up around them, and Alec takes advantage of it to try and settle himself. It shouldn’t make him forget that the man touching him is _Magnus Bane,_ deemed the biggest threat to Shadowhunter society by the Clave outside of _Valentine._

Alec knows he’s going to talk. He was _always_ going to talk. But, now —

Magnus’s hand feels like a burning brand in the middle of his back. Now, _Magnus_ is the reason Alec is going to talk. Even if he wasn’t supposed to — he would. He _wants to._ This is… probably a problem.

The moments he takes to try and get his thoughts in order seem to make Magnus think he’s not going to, though and Alec feels him start to draw away.

“ _No,”_ Alec objects, desperate, and is rewarded by Magnus stopping, settling his palm back on Alec’s skin. “Fuck.”

The _last_ thing he wants is for Magnus to stop touching him. He just… needs to tell Magnus what he wants to know. Then Mangus will… then Magnus will _fuck him,_ right here, in front of the crowd, Magnus’s _court._ Alec very much wants that. Alec doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything _more._

He feels dizzy. He feels _drunk._ The arousal coiling in his gut makes it impossible to think, and Magnus is barely even touching him. He can feel every single inch of space between their bodies like a wound.

“If you fuck me I won’t be able to think,” he finally manages to tell Magnus, breathlessly.

Magnus pulls his hand away and Alec can’t control the noise he makes, a whine caught in his throat that he desperately tries to choke off anyway. No, _why —_

But then Magnus is pressing against him, hips flush against his ass, blanketing his back to whisper in his ear.

“ _Well_ ,” the warlock purrs, “Aren’t you a good boy?”

Alec _keens_.

He tries to shove up, move away from the car so he can get some breathing room, but Magnus is a solid weight that doesn’t give. _Fuck_ , he thinks hazily as he goes back down. _Fuck,_ that’s —

“I told you to stay,” Magnus says, clicking his tongue.

“No you didn’t,” Alec disagrees, which is probably a horrendously bad idea, but it’s _true,_ “But if you —”

His next words are lost in a moan, which… neatly illustrates the point he’s trying to make, except he can’t even _explain that_ because Magnus _won’t stop touching him;_ Magnus has him trapped, caged in against the hood of the car and Alec… can’t go anywhere. He barely has enough give to breathe. His ability to think is basically _nil,_ right now. This was a _fantastic_ time to have someone put his thing for being pinned down into practice. Right in time to _probably get him killed._

“If you want me to talk, you have to—” Alec tries again, but this time _Magnus_ interrupts him, and that’s it, Alec is going to die. Alec is going to be the evening’s entertainment _and_ it’s show.

“Let you up? No,” Magnus sounds so matter of fact, like they’re discussing the fucking weather, not the fact that Magnus thinks that Alec wants Magnus to let him go, which… is about as far from the truth as it’s possible to get, actually. If Alec survives this he’s going to tell him so.

Angel, Alec can feel Magnus’s erection pressed against his ass. Magnus is probably going to give him the best fuck of his _life_ based on how he feels, but if he wants to not die afterwards, he needs to be able to string words together.

“No, fuck, don’t let me up, just _wait,”_ Alec pants out. He closes his eyes, hoping that will help him think better, but he opens them again immediately because it makes his entire world tilt on its axis. _Not better, fuck._ He’s still completely pinned between Magnus above him and the car beneath him and it’s making his mouth go dry.

Magnus’s hands are petting his sides, fingers catching on his ribs as he breathes.

“Why should I? You’re so eager and willing, darling, what could possibly be worth the wait?” Magnus whispers the words into his ear and this is. This is worse. Magnus _talking_ about how much he wants to fuck him gets him hotter than the physical evidence of that want pressed against his ass. Talking _just to Alec,_ where the crowd can’t hear — Alec moans again.

“Then fuck me and kill me, because you’re barely touching me and I already can’t remember what to tell you to make sure the second part doesn’t happen,” he chokes out. He’s _done,_ this is…  Alec doesn’t have anything _left._ “Magnus, _please_.”

Magnus has gone still above him. Alec feels tears prickling in his eyes as he tries to breathe around the want inside him; he wants to tell Magnus the _truth_ at this point, instead of his Clave-approved lie. It’s probably a good thing he can’t speak.

“I like it when you say my name,” Magnus breathes into his ear.

“ _Magnus_ ,” Alec says again, helpless. “Please, just fuck me, I don’t _care—”_

“ _Yes_ ,” Magnus hisses, fingers moving to unbuckle Alec’s belt and pull down his jeans.

Magnus doesn’t undress him completely, which Alec is grateful for; just pulls his jeans down enough so that they won’t be in the way and then — Magnus has to have used magic, because slick fingers are pressing into his hole.

The rest of Alec’s ability to form words disappears. Magnus starts with two, clearly not intending to take his time, just scissors his fingers to stretch Alec out.

Alec is _whining,_ can’t help it, because Magnus is _still wearing his rings._

“Oh, darling,” Magnus says, still pinning Alec down with his body, no matter how awkward that’s making the angle, “I see why you wanted me to stop touching you now.”

 _Fuck you,_ Alec thinks, moaning again, because his control over his ability to make noise is non-existent. _Fuck you, I’m going to die here because you wouldn’t listen to me and I_ don’t even care.

Magnus laughs like he can hear what Alec is thinking.

“If you think _this,”_ and Magnus presses his fingers _all the way in,_ the metal of his rings catching on Alec’s rim, “feels good, darling, wait until I get my dick in you.”

Alec wishes he had the brainpower left to wonder what that means, but before he can try, Magnus adds a third finger and all Alec can do again is _beg._

He can barely move with how well Magnus has him pinned down. Alec is starting to wonder if magic is involved, but he has the feeling it’s all _just Magnus,_ and he’s grinding back into Magnus’s fingers as much as he can which… isn’t much, but it’s enough to make him desperate for more friction.

Alec wishes he could do more than say _please._

Magnus pulls his fingers away and Alec almost _cries._

“No, _please,”_ he manages. Magnus makes a pleased noise at his begging, and then Magnus is pressing into him, slick with more lube, and —

There are too many confusing signals going through his brain right now, which is the only reason Alec doesn’t come as soon as Magnus starts pressing into him, because _Magnus’s dick is pierced._

And — not just a single piercing, _many of them,_ in the head and all down the length of his dick and Alec _whines_ because oh fuck, oh _angel,_ this is why Magnus said what he did earlier.

Magnus was right. Magnus having fingered Alec open with his rings on has _nothing_ on how this feels.

And then Magnus _starts fucking him._

Alec has always liked being fucked — he’s tried both, topping and bottoming, and he’s always had more fun when someone was fucking him — but every sensation is _new,_ all over again.

The piercings catch on his prostate with each drag _out_ and again with each thrust back _in,_ and Alec _keens,_ because he already feels oversensitive from the stimulation and Magnus has barely even started.

Magnus has gone quiet above him, but the crowd around them hasn’t — Alec can hear them even through the rushing in his ears and the sounds leaving his mouth, and Alec is — he didn’t realize that people _being around_ wouldn’t be a turn off.

But Magnus has stopped talking. Alec had liked him talking. This feels — this _is_ the best fuck of his life, and probably his _last —_ and Alec will come from this, just from Magnus fucking him and pinning him down, but he wants _more._

“Please,” he gasps out, without stopping to think about it, “Please, _please,_ Magnus.”

“Please?” Alec hears Magnus repeat, musing, and then Magnus _pulls him up off the car with a hand in his hair_ and Alec stops thinking _anything at all._

* * *

Magnus had expected — well. Magnus doesn’t really have a lot of anything but _guesses_ to how Alexander is going to react to things at this point, but he’d expected for the shadowhunter to try and take some control back, now that Magnus wasn’t pinning him down. For him to _fight,_ maybe, despite how much he seemed to be enjoying this — Magnus _had_ promised to kill him if he didn’t talk, and he hadn’t talked… not that _that_ was on the agenda anymore, but Alexander didn’t know that.

He’s also a _shadowhunter,_ and Magnus has met shadowhunters who threw out plates simply because he touched them. And here Magnus is, _fucking_ one.

So fighting, maybe, or for Alexander to take on a _more active role_ in their fucking; instead, Alexander is _whining,_ desperately and _helplessly,_ arching into Magnus’s grip on his hair.

Magnus is _definitely_ not killing him after this.

Magnus almost thinks Alexander might come, with Magnus pulling like this on his hair and _still fucking him,_ that _this_ is what the Nephilim had been begging for, but while the noises get even _more_ desperate, he doesn't come.

Magnus eases up a little with his grip on Alexander’s hair, and _oh,_ the _sob_ he lets out at the loss, Magnus is almost tempted to just go back to fucking him without getting to the bottom of this.

Not tempted _enough,_ though.

“Was there something else you wanted from me, Alexander?” he asks instead. Their audience is mostly silent, right now, although his question gets a few murmurs — Magnus likes a _captive_ audience, talking not included — but a small flare of magic quiets them down again.

Between Magnus’s question and the noise of the crowd, Magnus can tell that the Nephilim is rather _abruptly_ reminded that they’re _very much in public,_ Alexander tensing up around Magnus _deliciously._ Magnus grinds his hips into Alexander again, not a true thrust, but enough to get another _moan._

Magnus pulls back until only the head of his cock is stretching Alexander’s rim, the head of the barbell pressing into his skin, and Alexander trails off into helpless whining again, clenching down on _almost nothing,_ because Alexander is going to break much, _much_ sooner than Magnus is.

“I—” he starts, and Magnus rewards him by starting to sink back in, then stops again then Alexander doesn’t continue.

“Do you not want me to keep fucking you?” Magnus asks, amused. It’s a rhetorical question and everyone within listening distance knows the answer. This sinfully pretty Shadowhunter wants Magnus to go back to fucking him _very much._

But not enough to tell Magnus what else it is that he wants, apparently, because Magnus waits, completely still, for several moments and gets nothing but silence. No whining or begging, much less _words._

He’d been willing to talk earlier, not that he _had,_ and oh, Magnus is _dying_ to know what’s going through his head right now, needs to know what it is that Alexander wants that has him so tied up he’s _unwilling to speak it._

“Tell me what is is you’re begging for, Alexander, or I stop,” Magnus says. It’s a lie — Magnus wouldn’t stop right now even if Alexander _begged him to._ Even if he was begging Magnus to stop, he _wouldn’t mean it —_ but Alexander doesn’t know any of that.

He tilts the shadowhunter’s head so he can see his face a bit better when he continues to _not speak,_ and — Alexander has _bitten through his lip_ in his desperation to keep quiet.

Magnus resists the urge to take that bleeding, abused lip between his own teeth, bite down and _taste._

“Should I guess then?” Magnus asks. Alexander is shaking in his arms, _not moving,_ because he doesn’t just want to get fucked, he wants _Magnus to fuck him._ He’d liked being pinned down, but Magnus had been doing that still, so that couldn’t be it.

Alexander is _crying._ Crying and bleeding and already wrapped tight around Magnus’s dick; whatever it is that Alexander is holding back had better be _fantastic,_ because Magnus wants to go back to ruining him.

He wraps his arm around Alexander’s waist, taking a moment to appreciate the bruises he’s already put on Alexander’s hip, pressing his palm against the other man’s abdomen. Magnus can feel the muscles jumping as Alexander fights to keep himself still and —

“Did you not like being good for me, Alexander?” Magnus wonders. And, _yes,_ Magnus gets another whine with that, the trembling growing more violent. “Did you not enjoy doing what I told you to?”

 _That’s it,_ he thinks, as Alexander chokes out his name, voice broken and thready.

“Tell me what I want to know, Alexander,” Mangus whispers into his ear, “And I’ll give you what _you_ want.”

He thinks he already knows, even before the Shadowhunter answers — can feel it in the way that Alexander’s shaking ticks up every time Magnus _speaks._

He’s still going to make him say it. If Alexander wants Magnus to tell him how good a fuck he is, he can use his words and _beg._

And beg he _does,_ breaking so _absolutely beautifully._

“Magnus — _Raziel, please_ don’t stop,” Alexander chokes out.

“Don’t stop what?” Magnus asks. _Not good enough yet, darling,_ he thinks. So close but not _quite_ there. “Would you like to try again?”

Alexander _whines_ and shudders, and —

“Don’t stop talking, _please,”_ Alexander begs.

“There we go,” Magnus murmurs. Then, because he _knows_ what it will do to him, “ _Good boy.”_

He shoves Alexander back down onto the hood of the car as the Nephilim _whines,_ magic already swirling into existence and _catching him,_ preventing him from slamming into the metal face first. Magnus can’t pin Alexander down with his body and fuck him the way he’s going to — unlike some lesser man, though, Magnus has magic for that.

Magnus has more leverage this way — a _lot_ more — and Alexander _screams_ when Magnus starts fucking him again. He’s trapped much more thoroughly now, Magnus’s magic blanketing him in a way that feels like Magnus’s body did but works _so much better;_ Magnus _chooses_ to let his magic give enough so that Alexander can breathe, every time he takes in a shaky breath.

That’s not what Alexander was begging so prettily for though, even though Alexander clearly _loves it,_ so Magnus doesn’t stop there.

“I've paid for worse sex from high class whores, Alexander,” Magnus tells him, and _oh,_ Magnus doesn’t think he’d like it if Magnus was calling _him_ a whore, but the favorable comparison? _That_ he likes.

“Not that I’m going bother with _that_ again, not while I have _you._ Not when I have you so ready and willing to beg for the privilege,” Magnus says, talking through the noises Alexander is making. Fucking more of the noises _out of him,_ and at this point, Magnus honestly isn’t sure which action is getting Alexander off _more._

“And you _will_ beg me, Alexander. Every time, no matter how sure you might think you are of the answer. While I pin you down, on your back, _on your knees,”_ and Magnus has to snap his mouth shut at the _noise_ Alexander makes, eager and _needy._

“Everyone wishes they were me right now, darling,” Magnus tells him, “did you know that? They want to be the ones spreading you out and making you _take them,_ to see first hand how _obscene_ you look where you’re taking them in. To be the ones who make you come.”

“You’re so close, aren’t you darling? And you want it _so badly,”_ Magnus continues.

“Please,” Alexander chokes out, because he learns _oh so quickly,_ “Magnus—”

“Come for me,” Magnus orders him at the same time as he pulls almost all the way out then _slams back in._

Alexander shakes apart beneath him with another scream, leaving a mess all over the hood of Magnus’s car. The next time they do this, Magnus is going to make him lick it up after.

“You look so pretty when you come,” Magnus says. “I honestly can’t decide what’s prettier — how  you look when you come, or how you look when you _cry.”_

“Maybe I’ll just keep making you do _both,”_ Magnus finishes. _Next time,_ and this list has already grown beyond one _next time,_ Magnus is going to have Alexander in a position that lets Magnus lick the tears off his face. He bets that will make Alexander cry harder, and it’ll be a sight to see.

Most men are too oversensitive after coming to continue to enjoy being fucked, but Alexander is still moaning in _pleasure,_ just as loudly as he was in the beginning.

Not that Magnus had any intention of stopping, but _now_ he’s going to make Alexander come _again_ with how good Magnus is making him feel and how much Alexander _enjoys Magnus talking._

“Did you enjoy this before, Alexander? Sneaking out of the Institute, finding someone to fuck in an alley then slinking back home in shame, come dripping down your thighs?” Magnus asks him, because Magnus wants him to break a little more. He’d eaten up Magnus’s praise like he’d been starving; Magnus wants him to know that the praise is a _gift,_ one Magnus is choosing to give to him, and he can hand out the opposite just as easily.

Apparently an orgasm has wiped Alexander’s slate clean and he’s capable of words again — Magnus will have to remember that.

“Never did this before,” the Shadowhunter says, pushing back against Magnus’s magic. Magnus doesn’t think he’s trying to get away — Alexander _whines_ when the magic presses him back down. “I— used condoms—”

Magnus’s hips stutter without him meaning them to. Magnus might not be the first person to open up this pretty Nephilim around their dick, but he’s going to be the first — and last, if he has any say in it, and he _does_ — to fuck him bare.

The first — and last — to _come in him._

Alexander is already close again, his begging ratcheting up, and Magnus isn’t even using magic to help him along.

Beyond that, _Magnus_ is close, centuries of stamina holding up like the flickering of a candle flame at having _sin personified_ wrapped around his dick.

Magnus is going to make Alexander come, and then Magnus is going to come in him.

Magnus leans over so he can breathe the words in Alexander’s ear, magic ensuring that no one else can hear, “I am going to kill every single man who has ever put his hands on you other than me, _darling.”_

Alexander shakes apart underneath him again at his words, completely silent this time, and Magnus follows him, pressed in as deeply and tightly as he can manage without carving Alexander open and crawling directly into his skin.

Magnus doesn’t pull out until Alexander is whining from overstimulation, pressing against Magnus in an attempt to get away, finally, and even then he only does so reluctantly.

Another surge of magic cleans up his car and rights their clothes — not that there is much to fix, considering Magnus didn’t do more than unzip his pants or pull Alexander’s _down_ — so that Magnus can flip Alexander over and _finally_ catch Alexander’s ruined lip with his mouth.

The noise he gets is half pleasure and half pain as Magnus slides his tongue along Alexander’s bottom lip, letting magic follow in the wake of his tongue, sealing the imprints left by Alexander’s teeth.

The next time his mouth is bleeding, it will be because Magnus did it to him.

Then, because Magnus wants to learn how he tastes, wants to know _everything about him,_ Magnus licks into his mouth.

Alexander opens up for him _greedily,_ taking everything Magnus gives him, like he has since the start, and seeking _more._

It’s like his father reached into his head and pulled out all his deepest, darkest, fantasies, then dropped the result in his lap in the form of this Nephilim. Magnus is _never letting him go._

Someone clears their throat near them.

 _Rude,_ Magnus thinks, as his magic flexes, only half under his control and only half conscious decision. Whoever it is ends up _unmade,_ flesh unravelling with a scream, and Alexander _shudders_ under him.

“ _Fuck,”_ he says, when Magnus pulls back to find out why that is. His eyes are glassy and his lips are red and he looks — oh, he’d _liked_ that. _Nephilim._ Magnus doesn’t know how he’d _forgotten_ how _unhinged_ they all were.

His voice already sounds half-ruined. Magnus is going to ruin it the rest of the way later, with his dick down Alexander’s throat.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Magnus tells him, because he wants to be sure his Nephilim knows this. He’s probably a Clave spy — that’s fine, Magnus is still going to keep him, and they _aren’t getting him back._


	2. su misericordia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alexander,” Magnus purrs, tilting his head back in a way that is on the edge of uncomfortable. “If you don’t start answering my questions, I’m going to stop touching you at all.”
> 
> He can see the distress that flickers in Alexander’s eyes at that. Magnus is, for the first time in his life, understanding the benefit of empty threats. Especially when the other party doesn’t know they’re empty.

Magnus finds, rather quickly, that he doesn’t want to be here anymore. He’d much prefer to find some quiet place to put Alexander on his knees in, and as the High Warlock of Brooklyn and king of the downworld, well. He doesn’t have to wait to do that.

He helps Alexander down off the car, catching him when he stumbles — and _oh,_ if Magnus fucked him _that_ well _this time_ — and flicks his fingers, catching both his own car and Alexander’s frankly _gorgeous_ Maserati with his magic and settling them down safely in the garage under his loft.

Alexander doesn’t resist as Magnus guides him through a portal and into his loft, doesn’t resist as the bypass the living room and head straight into Magnus’s bedroom. Every time he clears his throat, or questions something Magnus says — which isn’t often, but Magnus has a vested interest in making sure that Alexander keeps talking like this, with his voice so _beautifully_ ruined — Magnus can _hear_ how ruined he still sounds and at this point… he’s going to make it worse. How could _anyone_ resist Alexander like this, fucked out, voice gravelly, knowing that he submits _so beautifully?_

Although he’s the High Warlock, Magnus is still, in the end, just a man, and he is _certainly_ not a man strong enough to resist a call like _this one._

“What—” Alexander starts, when he registers their surroundings, but he cuts himself off when Magnus puts his hands on Alexander’s shoulders and _shoves._ The boy hits the ground like his strings have been cut; like his legs no longer support his weight; like he’s _made_ to do whatever Magnus wants him to.

Magnus threads his fingers through Alexander’s hair and _pulls,_ just slightly, watching Alexander’s mouth fall open in a moan. It’s a tempting sight, and Magnus is never one to resist temptation. “Do you want to be good for me, Alexander?” he asks.

The boy doesn’t reply — instead, he _moans;_ the sound tearing it’s way from his throat as if he had no control over its expression.

And Magnus, well. He knows a yes when he sees one. He unbuckles his pants with a wave of his free hand, using the other — still wrapped in Alexander’s hair — to pull the boy’s head back.

“Good boy,” he says. “You’re going to get me off, okay, angel?”

Alexander nods, the movement pulling at his hair. He doesn’t make a sound, though, and Magnus pulls _harder;_ makes him let out another whine. Magnus can tell that he _wants_ to be good, but he doesn’t know the rules of their game yet. He doesn’t know how to play.

Magnus can’t wait to teach him.

“Darling,” Magnus says, voice sharp. Alexander’s finally catching on to the fact that Magnus wants him an active participant, but he _doesn’t quite know the rules_ still; doesn’t know that when he’s on his knees, Magnus only wants one thing out of him, and he reached his hands up, trying to take care of Magnus the way he would himself. “One more thing. You’re not allowed to use your hands.”

It takes him a second, but his boy gets the idea eventually. This time, when he leans in, it’s his mouth — his teeth, specifically — that he uses to grasp onto the zip, pulling it down as best he can. It’s an unfairly attractive sight.

“There you go,” Magnus croons, pulling at Alexander’s hair again. “Now you’ve got it.”

It takes him a bit — he’s clearly never done exactly _this_ before — but he’s a fast learner. Fast enough that Magnus doesn’t even have to reward him with _help,_ because Alexander has his zipper down enough that without any cloth trapping Magnus’s erection, it’s in the perfect position for Alexander to put his mouth on it.

Alexander takes him into his mouth — cautiously, at first, although he gains confidence quickly — pushing his mouth further and further down Magnus’s dick. Magnus _knows_ Alexander gets off on being used; knows from how he moaned when Magnus slammed him down over the hood of his car, from how he _whined_ when he felt the metal of Magnus’s rings against his rim.

Magnus wasn’t nice then, forcing Alexander to take more than he ever had before, and he’s not going to be nice now. So he fucks himself into Alexander’s waiting mouth.

His boy chokes _once,_ more from surprise than anything else, but as Magnus forces him down on his cock again, and _again,_ Alexander stops choking. Instead, he _swallows,_ Magnus’s dick _deep_ down his throat, the muscles convulsing around him. It’s _absurdly_ attractive — the blatant lack of a gag reflex, the way he just _takes_ everything Magnus has to give him.

His boy is _perfect,_ and maybe he’s ‘crafted by the Angel Raziel’, as all shadowhunters claim to be, but if he _was…_

He was crafted for Magnus.

When Magnus comes, it’s with a choked-off moan, spilling straight down Alexander’s throat. Pulling out, looking down at Alexander’s newly-teary eyes and swollen lips, all he can think is that _he’s probably the first to do this,_ and if he isn’t, well.

He’ll soon be the only one left _alive_ who _has._

“And how did _this_ compare, angel?” Magnus asks. It’s… not extremely relevant, except, no, it _is —_ if there is someone out there who Alexander thinks fucked him _better,_ Magnus is going to need to take his time with whoever that is. “Or did you use condoms for this too, like a good little boy?”

“I—” Alexander has to stop to cough, and isn’t that satisfying?

“If you tell me no one has ever used your mouth before, Alexander, I’ll _know_ you’re lying,” Magnus warns him.

“I wasn’t going to _lie,”_ he says, sounding affronted. _That_ won’t do. He digs the fingers of his free hand into the line of his boy’s jaw, hard enough to bruise.

“When I ask you a question, I want an _answer,_ not an _argument,”_ Magnus warns him, and it’ll be the only one Alexander gets.

Alexander — doesn’t react the way Magnus expects him to. _Again._ He doesn’t try to pull away from Magnus’s punishing grip, _leans into it,_ instead.

“Condoms,” Alexander says, voice practically _gone_ when he answers. “I used— I used condoms.”

“But it wasn’t… ” he continues, “I blew them, not—”

Magnus rewards the answer — and the _additional information_ — by letting go of Alexander’s jaw and sliding two of his fingers into Alexander’s mouth. Alexander’s eyes fall closed immediately as he starts _fellating Magnus’s fingers._

Magnus is not going to get _anything_ done tonight if he doesn’t put the brakes on this.

He pulls his fingers out of Alexander’s mouth, as much as he regrets the necessity, ignoring his boy’s disappointed whine at the action.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, tugging his hair, just enough to get his attention again, “I want to know why you showed up at the races earlier.”

“I wanted to race,” Alexander says and —

Magnus should be upset. He should be _angry,_ because Alexander is being decidedly unhelpful _on purpose,_ answering Magnus’s question with the bare minimum of information. With information that _doesn’t actually answer Magnus’s real question._

Instead, Magnus realises as he looks down at the expression on Alexander’s face, the stubborn set of his mouth, he’s… _satisfied._

Alexander is protesting Magnus taking his reward away. Well. Magnus can work with that.

“Alexander,” Magnus purrs, tilting his head back in a way that is on the edge of uncomfortable. “If you don’t start answering my questions, I’m going to stop touching you _at all.”_

He can see the distress that flickers in Alexander’s eyes at that. Magnus is, for the first time in his life, understanding the benefit of empty threats. Especially when the other party doesn’t _know_ they’re empty.

“I needed somewhere to be,” Alexander says. “I needed somewhere to… _not think.”_

“Hard day on the job?” Magnus drawls, without any sympathy.

“I was proscribed less than five hours ago, so you could say that,” Alexander agrees.

Magnus — _stops._

Proscription was one very small step away from being _de-runed._ “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything — they got tired of ‘looking the other way’ about the fact that I’m gay,” Alexander says, voice remarkably steady. “They’re cleaning house, with the war picking up. No room for people like me.”

That… this entire evening, from start to finish, this puts that all into perspective. Shadowhunters don’t tolerate things that are _different._ One who got _caught_ enjoying the pleasures of the same sex? He’s surprised the boy _isn’t_ de-runed.

“So they kicked you out, and what? You thought you’d come slum it with the downworlders?” he prompts, mind whirling, as he tugs on Alexander’s hair absently. If it’s a cover story — which Magnus is, unwillingly, starting to doubt — it’s a good one.

“I, _Magnus,”_ Alexander says, voice breathy, and when Magnus focuses on him again, he bites his lip. “You keep—”

Magnus’s thoughts still as he remembers this exact situation from earlier. He smirks and rubs his thumb across his boy’s bottom lip. “Alexander, you’re just going to have to learn to think when I’m touching you, because I’m not going to stop.”

Alexander was already aroused, but his eyes are glassy now, between Magnus’s denial, his touch and his hand in his boy’s hair. He tries to swallow a whimper, and Magnus adds that to the growing list of things he needs to train his boy _into_ or _out of._ On the _out of_ part, of course.

He _does_ try, though, which is gratifying. Alexander stumbles over the next part of his explanation, but Magnus gathers the important details.

He’d gotten seen by too many people, and the Clave decided it was easier to cut him loose rather than hush that up. And they had _cut him loose,_ Magnus realizes.

Because Magnus has been feeling the itch of Alexander along his senses since he’d showed up while Magnus was holding court, earlier. He hadn’t even noticed Alexander’s runes until he’d been practically on top of him — what had _drawn him to Alexander_ had been the fact that there was someone walking around, _completely unclaimed._

Shadowhunters swore their fealty to the Clave, and in doing so gained the same magical _buffer_ against the draw of other rulers, even though the Clave _wasn’t one,_ not really. Not in the same way that the rest of the downworld hierarchy worked. Magnus has… never met one who _wasn’t_ benefiting from those protections.

He doesn’t realize he’s pulling away from Alexander until he _whines,_ and Magnus looks him over more critically, and — he’s _hard._ Alexander is _getting off_ on Magnus making him talk, on Magnus’s hand in his hair, and, Magnus thinks, getting off on the fact that a little while ago, Alexander had his mouth on Magnus’s dick.

There’s also the fact that between… Magnus fucking him in full view of his court, _not_ killing him after he promised to, and Alexander being _unclaimed_ for the first time in his life, they’ve… imprinted on each other. Just a little. Not enough to create more than a _draw,_ an indicator that they’re _compatible,_ that Alexander could be useful to Magnus and that Magnus could protect him.

The fact that they’re also compatible in _other_ ways isn’t helping this, not even a little.

Magnus is holding Alexander away from him, and that’s the first thing he changes — uses his grip on Alexander’s hair to put him in a better position as Magnus steps forward so that his leg is pressed against the long line of Alexander’s body. Alexander leans into him like he’s starving and desperate, but Magnus doesn’t stop there.

“Hands behind your back,” he orders, and Alexander does it without protest, and his shadowhunter training serves him well in this, because he already knows how to lock his hands properly. Magnus shifts forward a little more, just enough so that Alexander can bury his face in Magnus’s hip.

With how Magnus is standing, one movement from him will send Alexander _sprawling_ if he chooses to relax against Magnus.

He immediately does, shuddering and slumping in Magnus’s grip with another whine, just like Magnus knew he was going to. And last — he shifts just that _little bit more,_ so that the next time Alexander seeks friction, Magnus’s leg will be _right there._

“Continue,” he tells Alexander. He’s almost done — either because he’s almost out of information to give Magnus, or because he’s going to end up in subspace, which is something Magnus is torn on allowing — but either way, Magnus will be able to _properly reward_ him soon.

“They made it clear that… if I left, voluntarily, they’d strike me from the rosters and no more would be said about it. So I grabbed what was important and got the fuck out before they changed their minds,” Alexander tells him, eyes closed and panting against Magnus’s thigh. He’s holding himself still, if only barely, Magnus can tell he wants to grind against Magnus _desperately,_ but isn’t sure he’s allowed.

Magnus is going to _very much enjoy_ breaking that exquisite control, going forward. _Permanently._

Alexander _whines_ when Magnus pulls him a little closer, so that his hips stutter and he’s grinding against Magnus’s leg. He does it again, and Magnus has no idea how he’s managed to get this hard again with magical or runed help, but he _is,_ and judging by the noises he’s making and how strung out he is, this is not something that normally happens.

It’s probably a cover story. The Clave probably found a use for a gay shadowhunter, decided to put him to work like this because as far as they were concerned, this is all he was good for. But…

But Alexander is letting Magnus touch him _willingly._ He’s eager for it, even _without_ the added push of the connection forming between them. He’s interested in Magnus, very specifically and exclusively. Magnus doesn’t think anyone else touching him the way Magnus did, back at the races, would have gotten even remotely the same response.

Magnus feels his lips curve into a smile as he looks down at Alexander, panting desperately and grinding against him, seeking his own pleasure now that Magnus has made it clear he _can._

Magnus is probably the first person in his life who has understood what he wanted and _given it to him._ It would be sad, if it wasn’t such an opportunity.

It’s probably a cover story. But Magnus is beginning to believe that it _isn’t._

Magnus pulls him up by his hair, walking backwards backwards until they hit the bed. Alexander has his eyes open but he keeps his hands locked behind his back, _so desperate_ to be good for Magnus, and so Magnus is the one to get them on the bed, his back propped against his headboard and Alexander straddling one of his legs.

“You wanted to get yourself off,” Magnus says in the face of Alexander’s confusion. “Feel free, darling.”

And then he grinds his thigh up.

His boy _moans,_ grinding down desperately, but he’s unbalanced, like this — Magnus has one hand in his hair still, and the other is resting lightly on Alexander’s thigh — so he automatically goes to brace himself with his hands.

“Ah, ah, ah, darling,” Magnus says, reaching up to pinch Alexander’s side. “Keep your hands where they are.”

 _“Magnus,”_ he whines, locking his hands behind his back again, “I can’t—”

“You _will,”_ Magnus corrects.

Alexander moans again, the order making him hotter for it. He starts moving, slowly, trying to keep his balance and get the friction he so desperately craves.

That’s not his reward, though. This — being allowed to get himself off — is an added bonus he’s getting because Magnus likes how he looks when he comes.

He leans up and bites Alexander’s neck, right over where his pulse is jumping. He soothes the bite with his tongue, the magically cool metal of his tongue piercing digging in while he sets about making a _bruise._

Alexander almost unbalances, his hips stuttering as he goes _still_ under Magnus’s mouth, more desperate for the _mark_ Magnus is giving him than chasing his orgasm.

Magnus puts his free hand on Alexander’s hip and rocks up his thigh, just enough that Alexander moves again automatically. It’s enough — Magnus leaves his hand there and lets his boy move on his own again, pulling his mouth away to give him another bruise, just to the side of that rune he put so prominently on his neck.

Magnus has never been one to turn down so _obvious_ an invitation.

He’s close — he came twice, not long ago, but he’s so _wound up_ from everything that he’s going to come again in no time at all — and when he does…

Earlier, he offered himself up to Magnus for the taking, and Magnus accepted. _Now,_ their positions are reversed — Magnus is offering Alexander the opportunity to take his pleasure from Magnus, and when he does… well. Alexander won’t be _unclaimed_ anymore, after that.

The best part is, Alexander _doesn’t even know that._ Not consciously — shadowhunters aren’t taught how this _works —_ but the core of him _knows_ and craves it.

Magnus licks up the length of his neck as he tugs on Alexander’s hair, feels the moan that comes out of his throat against his tongue, and he doesn’t think Alexander is _ever_ going to get used to Magnus’s piercings, because his moan trails off into a mess of whimpers when Magnus _twists_ the magic around it, turning it from _cool_ to _cold._

Magnus wonders how he would react if Magnus pierced _him_ and used the same magic on those piercings unexpectedly. Magnus thinks he could tie him down and make him come just from playing with them, if he did.

He brings his hand down to cup the back Alexander’s neck as he sucks another bruise into the column of Alexander’s throat, right over his jugular, hard enough that tomorrow, anyone who sees Alexander will wonder if someone tried to rip his throat out with their teeth.

His boy makes a desperate noise and _comes._ Magnus has trouble resisting the urge to bite down harder, hard enough to make him _bleed._

He only pulls back when Alexander is completely limp in his grip, nearly unconscious.

Magnus considers telling him that at some point, Magnus is going to have Alexander rub himself off like that on Magnus’s dick, but he’s not really awake enough to appreciate that enough to give Magnus the response he wants.

He’s slipping over into sleep — the connection forming between them is _strong,_ built as it is on sex magic and Alexander’s desperation — which works _so well_ for Magnus’s plan for the next few hours.

He has people to kill, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel we might have missed a tag, you can tell us in a comment. Tagging is Hard™.
> 
> Some of you might have noticed we didn't respond to your comments — that's because, if you speculate on the plot, we can't answer you one way or another, whether you're right or wrong. We're not saying don't do that! But, we won't be responding to those, for obvious reasons.


	3. sólo yo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His casting isn’t _simple,_ although it is simple in its elegance. With the newly formed binding between himself and his nephilim, he’s going mark every single person who touched Alexander _less than platonically._ A brilliant glowing thread is going to tie Magnus to every man who touched him, and then Magnus is going to kill them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of murder and some more sex
> 
> also i gave the seelie queen a name because she didn't have one.

Magnus leaves Alexander securely in his bed, humming quietly to himself as he appears on the roof of Pandemonium between one step and the next. 

It’s the seat of his power, after all, and where he stands when casting  _ greater _ magical endeavours. 

His casting isn’t  _ simple _ , although it is simple in its elegance. With the newly formed binding between himself and his nephilim, he’s going mark every single person who touched Alexander  _ less than platonically.  _ A brilliant glowing thread is going to tie Magnus to every man who touched him, and then Magnus is going to kill them. 

As he starts the spell, he wonders how  _ many _ there will be.

A spell like this is complex, finicky, and prone to catastrophic failure. Forcing the world to let you tap into the layer of it that allows for  _ greater sight  _ is something that should be carefully considered and only done in the  _ direst _ of circumstances.

Magnus has never cared for convention. 

Magnus taps  _ lightly _ into the well of power available to him from Alexander to feed the spell and almost  _ loses control of it _ with the heady  _ gush _ of power that comes to him.

Magnus laughs aloud as the spell spins into existence under this hands with barely a thought, thick ribbons spreading out across the city, seeking anyone whose  _ affections Alexander had accepted. _

It pays to be specific, after all. It doesn’t take long, all told, but longer than Magnus had expected? Oh, yes.

Seventeen people’s blood to stain his hands with before he can go home. If he hadn’t already been planning on a murder spree, he’d be positively homicidal.

He plucks one of the ribbons absently, a green one — a Fae, somewhere in the Wander Woods — before noting the colors of them. Washed out grey, blue, and green. Mundane, werewolf, fae. 

Well. At least he doesn’t have to invade Alicante.

He runs his fingers lightly over the glowing magic in the air, getting a feel for where each man is. The mundanes are the simplest, so he might as well start with those.

A step forward puts him in someone’s bedroom, and he barely pauses, jaws of magic already snapping off the man’s hands and ripping through his gut. He’s dead, even if his body doesn’t know it, before he has enough time to scream, and Magnus doesn’t bother to stop. Another step, then  _ another, _ a death at each, until all five dull grey ribbons have shredded into nothing.

Nine blue, three green. It seems that dear Alexander had opted to stay _mostly_ _ away _ from the beings that couldn’t lie. It was nice to know he had a brain in that pretty head of his, not that it would matter if he didn’t. An added benefit, though.

He taps his fingers against his chin thoughtfully before stepping twice, once to the portal to the Seelie realm, and the next  _ through _ it. His gait is smooth —  _ teleporting _ was such a short step away from  _ portalling, _ after all. He navigates his way easily through the maze, skipping through shortcuts that would bind and kill a lesser man but pose no threat to a visiting  _ king.  _ The next one is not far from where Melusine is holding court.

“Good evening, your Majesty,” Magnus says, interrupting her conversation. “I’m so sorry for interrupting you, I only need a moment.”

He turns to the elf — a high ranking guard, or noble, possibly, based on how he’s dressed — and  _ eviscerates  _ him. The man doesn’t have a chance to scream, because Magnus  _ is  _ trying to be polite, so the  _ thuds _ of the two — separate — pieces of the body hitting the floor is the only noise the man makes as he dies.

“Magnus,” Melusine says, sounding interested, “did he do anything in particular to deserve that?”

“He touched something that recently became mine,” Magnus says, hovering his hand over the other two vibrating green strings. “I’m afraid you have two more you’re going to lose, my dear, so I’m afraid I can’t stay and chat.”

“I am always happy to have you visit, Magnus,” she says, bowing her head to him briefly. “I hope you have a lovely time on your hunt.”

“My lovely time is sleeping in my bed but I appreciate the sentiment,” Magnus says. Considering he has  _ permission —  _ he takes a step forward and  _ pushes _ against the soft barrier that would normally prevent him from portalling in the Wander Woods and finds he’s able to step neatly through it.

It’s always nice to receive help and support from his fellow rulers.

The next man — another elf — meets him with a blade, having felt him coming. Magnus absently deflects it and takes off his head, heedless of the blood that splashes him. He wipes his face absently with the back of his hand, clearing the worst of it.

It’s almost a pity none of them know  _ why _ they’re dying. None of them even realize that Magnus is on a  _ hunt. _ Another step to the side lets him pull the last fae — this one  _ occupied —  _ into the air and twist his body  _ just so _ with a resounding  _ crack. _

He drops the body to the floor instead of back on the bed, then whirls away again.

Several of the remaining threads are all grouped together, which is why Magnus plans to do them last. Three more steps gets him three more deaths — someone’s throat a  _ ruin, _ another’s ribs twisted to pierce all his organs, the last finding himself without  _ lungs —  _ and then he steps a final time to find himself… in Hunter’s Moon. Well.  _ That’s _ unexpected.

“Bane,” Gabriel says, bitter as always over the fact that he  _ answers to his king, _ and — a thread.

Alexander had  _ fucked the head of the New York pack. _

“Well,” Magnus says, staring at him, “I see we’re about to have a very different conversation than I thought we were.”

“There a problem?” Gabriel asks, still confrontational.

“Oh, just that it turns out you’ve been sticking your dick where you shouldn’t,” Magnus says airly. “You and several  _ others _ of your pack, actually.”

Recognition lights Gabriel’s eyes, and his mouth turns up in an ugly smirk. “Oh, did that little shadowhunter whore catch your attention too?”

Magnus was going to kill him quickly, like the rest. Or, he had been intending to do that — now, though… 

“When one of my boys told me about him, I just knew I had to take him for a spin,” Gabriel continues, seemingly unaware of the fact that he’s just  _ pissed Magnus off, _ “and I have to say, I don’t like boys, but he was worth it. Not surprised he caught the attention of someone like  _ you.” _

“Yes,” Magnus says softly, “I’m aware of the fact that  _ several  _ of your pack have… taken him for a spin, was it?”

Fire erupts behind the bar, making Gabriel duck. “Unfortunately, puppy, I don’t share,” Magnus says.

“What, you  _ like _ him? That little shadowhunter whore? What, gonna give me and my boys,” Gabriel pauses, waving a hand at the room, where, yes, the other marked wolves are standing up and creeping forward. “A hard time for enjoying what he offered?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Magnus tells him calmly, and burns the first wolf that lunges at him to cinders.

There is only so much magic can do, dependent on his own senses and reflexes, so he shapes some of it into a lethal blade that he puts through the heart of the next wolf to try his luck while slitting the throat of a third.

It takes seconds.

“Your ‘boys’ don’t seem very helpful,” Magnus notes absently. “I was just going to kill you quickly and be done with it Gabriel, but now I’m curious. What on  _ earth _ possessed you to think I would take well you saying something like that about my new toy?”

“You — he’s just a  _ toy _ like you said, why are you —” Gabriel says, properly fearful for the first time since Magnus showed up.

“I told you — I don’t share,” Magnus says again. He shortens the blade of magic in his hand and puts his arm through the chest of the nearest wolf. “Didn’t you already know that about me, puppy?”

Gabriel snarls at the term, finally getting involved in the fight, attempting to flank Magnus with the one remaining wolf he has at his side. Magnus rolls his eyes and shreds everything inside the last wolf, letting him drop mid-step. 

“Gabriel,” Magnus says, conjuring up a  _ spike _ and hefting it in his hand, “Explain to me why, exactly, you thought I’d  _ take those comments well.” _

“You can’t do this,” Gabriel says, as the fire from behind the bar grows and swells, cutting off his escape. 

Magnus sighs and sends the railroad spike through his leg, then conjures another one. “That’s one. You’ve got three other limbs to play with before I move onto something more vital, Gabriel,” he warns.

“He’s just some piece of tail! How the fuck was I supposed to know you’d care more about panting after his ass than  _ me? _ I’m the one who swore oath, no matter what I think of you!” Gabriel yells, clutching at his leg. “You  _ ruined my leg, _ you bastard!”

“I’m going to kill you, too, so that’s not something you need to worry about,” Magnus notes. “You never respected me, Gabriel, but you were good at your job so I let it go. After all, I don’t need you to like me, as long as you  _ feared me, _ but apparently, you don’t even do  _ that.” _

Magnus leans forward, shoving Gabriel upright with a shove at his shoulder, and  _ smiles _ at him. “Say hello to my father for me, Gabriel,” Magnus says, and then puts two magically enhanced hands on his shoulders and  _ rips. _

“Garroway,” Magnus says idly, into the  _ complete _ silence of the bar, when the grasping hands of Edom have finished dragging the pieces of Gabriel away, “congratulations on your ascension to Alphahood.”

“Thank you, High Warlock. I look forward to serving you,” Luke says, and he dips his head respectfully at Magnus when Magnus glances over. Magnus feels the oath shift and  _ settle, _ a step  _ up _ from Luke’s oath as one of the kingdom’s protectors.

“There will be some cases coming across your desk tomorrow,” Magnus informs him, “they were me, and you will bury them.”

“Of course,” the new Alpha agrees. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Not at the moment, now that my hunt is finished,” Magnus says. “I would suggest that you keep a…  _ tight leash, _ so to speak, on your pack in the coming days. I’d  _ hate _ to have to wipe you all out and start over fresh because some of you don’t like who I keep in my bed.”

\--

Alec wakes up with something pushing down on his wrists and something  _ very _ soft underneath him. It’s a weird moment, catching him somewhere between the instinctive desire to figure out what’s holding him down and  _ get out of it _ and the  _ other _ instinctive desire to  _ relax. _

But his bed back at the institute is  _ nowhere near _ as soft as this, so the desire to  _ figure out where the fuck he is _ wins out in the end. Alec opens his eyes to blue silk above him.

And from  _ there, _ it doesn’t take long for him to figure out that he’s in —  _ tied down to? _ — Magnus Bane’s bed.

_ What the fuck. _

He remembers the sex. He remembers being pinned to Magnus’s car and fucked over the hood, in front of  _ everyone, _ and he remembers how much he’d loved it. He remembers being taken back to the loft; being put on his knees and told to get Magnus off —  _ without using his hands. _ And,  _ fuck, _ he’s already hard again — although he has  _ no clue _ when he last was, because he doesn’t know the time, and he  _ can’t check,  _ because there’s something pinning his hands down.

And  _ fuck, _ because when Alec flexes his hands, tries to get out, the  _ thing holding him down flexes right back. _ And he’s  _ trapped _ like this, aroused and, he’s realising,  _ naked _ , waiting for Magnus to come back from wherever he is. Whatever he’s doing.

He feels like a  _ toy, _ an object for Magnus to use to satiate his sexual desires, whatever they may be.

And that’s  _ attractive. _ It’s a thought Alec finds that he  _ likes; _ knowing that he doesn’t have to  do anything, protect anyone. He doesn’t have to tear himself apart trying to help people, he can just… let Magnus do what he wants to, and  _ relax. _

And that realisation, quite happily, perfectly coincides with Magnus’s return. He slips into the room, his arms up to the elbow coated in blood, a fact that Alec notes when he turns his head at the sound of the door opening.

“Magnus?” he croaks, wincing at the sound of his own voice. He sounds like he hasn’t talked in  _ months. _ “What happened?”

“Alexander, darling,” Magnus says. He sounds entirely unconcerned, heading over to the bed. He’s _smirking._ “I can get rid of the blood, if you’d prefer, but I find I like the reminder that I’m the only currently-living man to have fucked you.”

It takes a second, but —

Alec’s brain stalls.

That.  _ Magnus killed everyone else who fucked him. _ That should  _ not _ be that hot.

“Alexander?” Magnus says, carding a  _ still-bloody hand _ through his hair.

_ “Fuck,” _ Alec says hoarsely, “Magnus,  _ please.” _

“Please  _ what, _ darling?” Magnus asks.

Alec has never liked… talking about what he wants, much less  _ asking for it. _ He’d been trained out of that when he was still a child, because soldiers shouldn’t concern themselves with anything but their orders.

Alec is pretty sure this is one of the rules of their game, though.

So now he has to figure out what it was he was asking for then… actually ask for it. The idea makes him squirm because his knee jerk reaction is that he  _ doesn’t want to,  _ but… that isn’t really true. He wants to ask Magnus for something and then have Magnus, who probably already  _ knew _ what Alec wanted, give it to him. Because what Alec asked for was something Magnus had already decided to do.

It feels convoluted, when he tries to put it into words, but it’s…  _ not, _ in his head.

Alec also gets the feeling that if he  _ doesn’t _ answer, he’ll get nothing. 

He wants — he wants Magnus to make him come again. He wants Magnus to  _ tell him he’s good _ again. Those are things he’s going to want all the time, though, and right now… 

Magnus’s hands are  _ covered _ in blood. He’s already wetting Alec’s hair with it, where he’s petting Alec; Alec… kind of wants Magnus to put his hand on Alec’s dick.

_ ‘Kind of’ _ is probably an understatement, he realises, as he opens his mouth then shuts it again, because instead of words he just made a soft whining noise.

“Touch me,” he finally gets out after several false starts, pressing against the magic holding him down. It had just been on his wrists, before, but when he’d bucked his hips it had pinned him down  _ there _ too, and the longer he stayed silent, the more it moved — now, instead of just his wrists and his hips, there was that curious press of magic at his ankles and thighs.

Alec is unclear on how this is a  _ punishment, _ honestly, because the sensation makes him want to whine.

He hopes that’s enough, because he’s not sure he can force himself to say “Please put your hand on my dick and make me come”, no matter what the consequences will be.

Magnus chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to Alec’s hair. 

Magnus’s other hand is on Alec’s hip, thumb drawing small — and bloody — circles, the action the  _ entire reason _ Alec hadn’t been able to stay still; at Alec’s request, Magnus starts trailing his fingers over his stomach.

Alec tries to buck up again and the band of magic tightens almost painfully, which is, unfortunately, not a deterrent.  _ “Magnus,” _ he whines.

“Am I not touching you?” Magnus asks. He’s drawing another circle slowly on Alec’s abs, and it almost feels like being runed.

When Alec stays silent, Magnus flattens his palm on Alec’s stomach, right next to his dick. Alec  _ sobs, _ dick jerking and leaking pre-come just at  _ imagining _ Magnus wrapping his bloody, ringed hand around him.

“Did you want me to touch you somewhere  _ specific?” _ Magnus continues, like he doesn’t know.

He’s still petting Alec’s hair. The combination of sensations is  _ drugging, _ and all Alec wants is for Magnus to — to pet his  _ dick. _

Oh. He apparently said that out loud, because Magnus gives a little laugh — definitely a Pavlovian response to that now, fuck — and wraps his hand around Alec’s dick. Alec almost  _ cries. _

“Would you like to know whose blood I’m getting all over you, Alexander?” Magnus asks him as he does, in fact, start  _ petting _ Alec’s dick. His fingers are light and so are the press of his  _ nails, _ and it feels  _ so so good _ in a way that Alec wasn’t expecting when he made the request.

Alec leans his face into Magnus’s hand in his hair, shuddering, because he can't move, can’t do anything but lay here and let Magnus touch him how Magnus wants to and it’s all he can do to  _ keep his eyes open  _ so he can  _ watch. _

“I don’t care,” he says muzzily. There is a very short list of people whose blood Magnus could have on his hands right now that would cause him issues — the chances of it being from any of them is nonexistent, so it’s not Alec’s problem.

Magnus’s fingers leave another smear of blood on his dick as he trails them down and Alec bites his lip and whimpers.

“Do you really?” Magnus asks, but it sounds rhetorical. Alec  _ hopes _ it’s rhetorical because he has lost his ability to answer. “Well. You continue to be the  _ best _ surprise, Alexander.”

_ A surprise _ isn’t really how Alec wants Magnus to think of him, but he’ll take whatever he can get.

“It was a little more hard won than I anticipated, but I’m enjoying being the only one alive who has ever made you come,” Magnus says, and Alec  _ jerks _ at his words, the magic tightening again in response; Alec  _ moans. _

“You like that too, don’t you darling? I wonder which part you like more — the fact that I’m the only person who has and that it will stay that way, or that I killed all the others?”

_ Both, _ Alec thinks. He lets his eyes fall closed and leans as far into Magnus as he can. He feels — relaxed.  _ Good, _ and not just because he’s about to come, but just  _ good, _ good in general. Like there’s a weight gone from his shoulders that’s been there so long he stopped noticing it.

Magnus might be barely touching him, but between the fact that he is, hands  _ bloody, _ and his  _ voice, _ Alec is going to come soon.

“You were very good, Alexander,” Magnus says, and suddenly Alec is  _ there, _ coming under the gentle press of Magnus’s fingers on his dick and his hand in Alec’s hair.

He thinks he’s crying, but he’s too tired and wrung out to tell.

“Such a good, pretty boy,” Magnus says, pulling his hands away to swing a leg over Alec’s hips and resettle himself on Alec’s thighs. Alec blinks the tears out of his eyes, brain too slow to figure out what Magnus is doing.

What Magnus is doing, it turns out, is unzipping his pants and putting his bloody hands on his  _ own _ dick. Alec wishes he was just a little less strung out, but because he’s already come  _ four times  _ tonight, his dick doesn’t do more than give a feeble twitch, despite how hot the sight is. As it is, he’s too fucking tired to even need the magical restraints to keep him still.

Magnus smirks down at him like he  _ knows,  _ tugging on his own dick, clearly not interested in drawing his orgasm out.

When he comes, it’s all over the mess already on Alec’s body — he comes  _ all over Alec’s dick,  _ and it’s so hot it feels almost like a brand. Alec arches up — or tries to — reflexively, but the magic, which Magnus had never removed, stops him.

Alec drops back down onto the bed and, it feels like, into his body, like a stone.

He feels like he’s going to black out. 

“Good boy,” Magnus says again, and that’s the last thing Alexander registers before he’s out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess i should probably write chapter five since i post chapter four in 2 weeks, huh?


	4. en el dominio de

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Clave has a… bastardised version of the dominion magic that governs our world. As a nephilim, you’re sworn into their service the moment you accept your first rune — and since you all do that, you all serve the Clave.”
> 
> “The Clave is elected,” Alec feels the need to point out because… nephilim haven’t had a monarch since Jonathan Shadowhunter’s line had died out, centuries ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a chapter without sex? in this story? actually, that's less likely than you think. i don't know if this is going to happen again, to be honest.
> 
> chapter name is "in the domain of"
> 
> all chapter titles are in spanish because, based on casting choices, show!Alec is white passing latinx. (his mother and sister are both played by latinx actresses; so...)

Alec wakes up with an arm around his waist, holding him still just as surely as Magnus’s magic had earlier. It’s… nice, having someone plastered along his back, bare skin to bare skin. Alec doesn’t think he’s ever woken up feeling this...  _ warm. _

It’s morning, now; the sun shining through the open curtains, not quite falling over his face but still bright enough that he has to squint to see the room. Earlier — or, last night, Alec supposes — he’d been too distracted to really see the room, but now, with Magnus asleep  at his back, he has a chance to look around.

The room is nice —the blue silk he’d noticed above him earlier had been the  canopy to Magnus’s bed. There are cushions scattered on the floor, over the gorgeously embroidered rug laid over  the floorboards. There’s a dresser in the corner, next to a door that Alec presumes leads to either a wardrobe or a bathroom.

Speaking of bathrooms, Alec shifts uncomfortably, testing to see if he can sneak out from Magnus’s grip without waking him.

He cannot, obviously, as Magnus’s arm tightens around his waist when he moves. 

“Alexander,” Magnus says smoothly, and Alec has no idea how he can sound  _ that put together _ when he’s  _ just woken up, _ “were you planning on going somewhere?”

“Bathroom,” Alec says, shifting again, and this time Magnus lets him go.

“The door on the left,” Magnus tells him when Alec looks at him for direction, watching him with gleaming gold cat eyes.

When Alec comes back out, Magnus is still lounging in his bed. He hesitates uncertainly in the doorway, unsure of where to go or what to  _ do, _ but Magnus has no such issues — he smirks and crooks his finger.

Magnus wants Alec to get back in his bed.

Alec suppresses a shiver. 

He crawls back onto the bed, and it feels…  _ good _ to do it because  _ Magnus told him to. _

It’s concerning. Everything that’s happened since he met Magnus is  _ concerning.  _

Not the sex. Not — ok, the fact that he lied to Magnus and eventually Magnus is going to know that is a problem, but — that  _ pull _ he’d felt.

Which is… gone now.

What the  _ fuck? _

“Did you do something to me?” Alec asks, without thinking it through first.

Magnus’s lips quirk in amusement. “I did many things to you, darling, you’ll have to be a  _ bit _ more specific.”

“You—” Alec starts, then stops, because he has  _ no idea _ how to put this into words. He shifts so that he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed. “I… felt you. When we met.”

It had been  _ before that, _ really. Alec can’t pinpoint  _ when, _ but… if he thinks about it, he remembers something  _ building _ in him, something that only fully coalesced when he set his eyes on Magnus for the first time.

Magnus’s eyes flash with  _ something _ and his grin gets wider. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that your precious Clave doesn’t properly educate you about how the Shadow World works.”

Alec opens his mouth to ask what that  _ means _ but Magnus puts a finger to his lips and Alec just… stops. He feels like he could talk if he really wanted to, but at the same time he just  _ doesn’t really want to. _

He feels like panicking, but he doesn’t do that, either.

“I’m a crowned king, you know that much, I assume?” Magnus asks, pulling his hand away and settling it on Alec’s knee.

Alec nods, because he knows  _ this _ rule now.

“The Clave has a… bastardised version of the dominion magic that governs our world. As a nephilim, you’re sworn into their service the moment you accept your first rune — and since you all do that, you all serve the Clave.”

“The Clave is elected,” Alec feels the need to point out because… nephilim haven’t had a monarch since Jonathan Shadowhunter’s line had died out, centuries ago.

“That doesn’t change the fact that they  _ hold oaths, _ even if it’s a tether instead of the intended binding. It’s the reason people like Valentine — things like the Uprising, and now the Mortal War — happen. The Clave doesn’t hold dominion over the magic of their kingdom, which means that  _ anyone can take it, _ if they’re powerful enough,” Magus explains, relaxed and looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like he hasn’t just told Alec that, apparently, it’s possible for Valentine to become some sort of  _ magical king. _

“The point here, Alexander, is that when the Clave proscribed you, they cut your oath. And that oath — bastardised as it might have been — protected you from the…  _ presence _ of other rulers.”

“Are you telling me I was walking around with a giant metaphysical sign that said…” Alec doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“Free for the taking? More or less,” Magnus confirms.

“And  _ anyone _ could have—” Alec starts, but Magnus interrupts him.

“No. Well, Melusine or Arawn could have, but you’re…  _ powerful, _ Alexander.  _ I _ pulled on you because you needed a king,” Magnus tells him.

_ Needed. _ Not wanted, not — Alec doesn’t know. The thing is… Magnus is right. Alec still doesn’t know what it all  _ means _ but… he feels settled in his skin for the first time in his life. He’s sitting next to one of the most dangerous men in the downworld and he feels  _ safe.  _ Protected.

“So I… bound myself to you?” Alec asks, even though that doesn’t  _ sound right  _ in his head. “On— on accident?”

Magnus laughs. “Darling, there was nothing  _ accidental _ about the oath you swore to me.”

“I didn’t—”  _ I didn’t mean to, _ Alec starts to say, but Magnus stops him again.

“You can’t swear fealty unless you mean it, Alexander. That’s not how it works. You may not have all the details, but you  _ meant to.  _ You  _ wanted to.” _

“How did I do it, then? Because I don’t remember saying or doing anything that would… result in that,” Alec asks, trying to push down the panic that’s finally rising. Whatever this is between him and Magnus… it’s not good. It  _ can’t be good _ because Alec is here because he  _ has a job to do. _

“These days, the common practice is a verbal exchange of oaths. Magically, though, the  _ exchange _ part is what’s important — a verbal oath, hostages, gifts…” Magnus trails off, looking at Alec expectantly.

It takes him a moment before it clicks.

Sex.

Last night had been a haze of pleasure and  _ something, _ but Alec clearly remembers… he feels himself blush furiously. When he had ended up not being able to feed Magnus his cover story, he’d told Magnus to just… fuck him, instead of actually trying to get the man off him. Even knowing that Magnus had been planning to kill him after… he hadn’t cared. Part of that must have been whatever magical effect Magnus was talking about, because Alec isn’t the kind of person to go to his death  _ quietly, _ but he’d been… willing to. At the time.

But then Magnus hadn’t killed him. Magnus had killed  _ other people —  _ all the men Alec had fucked, according to him — and then… Alec doesn’t know. Was him  _ not killing Alec _ his ‘gift’?

That must show on his face, because Magnus speaks up again. The only comfort Alec has is that Magnus  _ very obviously _ isn’t reading his mind, because otherwise he’d be dead.

“You really can’t think of anything, darling?” he asks Alec, amused. “Something  _ freely _ given?”

Alec’s blush gets hotter. Yeah. He can think of something, when Magnus puts it that way.

_ ‘Feel free’ _ Magnus had told him. That… definitely qualified, considering Alec’s ‘gift’ had been  _ himself. _

“Most people don’t swear…  _ personal _ oaths, these days,” Magnus continues, rubbing his thumb in a circle on Alec’s knee. “The Alphas hold the oaths of the wolves, Camille and her second are the only two vampires who swore fealty to me… I hold the oaths of every warlock in my city, of course, but they aren’t  _ most people.” _

_ Because they’re stronger, _ and Alec doesn’t need Magnus to tell him that. He feels like there’s a piece of Magnus in his head, settled deep, in that place that primal  _ fight or flight _ response comes from.  He rubs his throat, feels the tender skin of the bruise Magnus left there — he feels it every time he talks. Marked inside and out. Fuck.

Alec can’t  _ imagine _ how that’s going to feel, when Magnus finds out that Alec lied to him.  _ Spied on him. _

But he’s going to. He’s going to lie to Magnus, to his  _ king, _ because the entirety of the downworld wants his parabatai’s head on a pike, and there is  _ nothing _ Alec won’t do to prevent that from happening.

Jace has had half of Alec since they drew their runes on each other. The other half… most of that had belonged to  _ duty —  _ to his family, to the Clave — and what little was left was what he had for  _ himself. _

Magnus had told him the Clave reneged on their oath.

This new one feels like Magnus ripped everything in him that doesn’t belong to Jace _out of him_ and is holding it tight in his fist.

It’s terrifying. Alec feels like he’s balanced on a knife’s edge, body surging with adrenaline that he prays to the angel isn’t showing in how he’s holding himself or on his face, because Magnus has taken  _ everything _ from him — more than the Clave ever did. He doesn’t want Alec’s  _ duty, _ he wants  _ all of Alec. _

Alec wants to give it to him.

And he  _ can’t. _

All Alec has  _ left _ of himself is this narrow strip of blade he’s balanced on, Jace on one side, Magnus on the other. He has no idea what will happen if he falls, because he’s going to lose half of himself either way.

He’d rather die. He’s  _ going  _ to die — either Magnus will kill him, or Jace will die, and if he does Alec will  _ never be the same.  _ Outliving Jace is a fate worse than death.

With Magnus, Alec finally feels like someone  _ cares, _ because of who Alec  _ is, _ not because of what Alec can  _ do, _ and — he’s going to ruin it, eventually.

Alec takes a deep breath, chest tight. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Magnus repeats, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Alec says, nodding. “I swore myself to you, that’s… I just want to know what it means, now. What do you want from me?”

“I hope that was mostly rhetorical, darling,” Magnus says.

“I meant other than that,” Alec says, blushing again.

“You’re a nephilim. A  _ shadowhunter,” _ Magnus says. “I’m sure I can find a use for a warrior of your caliber. You’d be surprised how few people are prepared to negotiate at swordpoint, considering we have to deal with your kind on a regular basis.”

“I’m better with a bow,” Alec feels the need to tell him, because while he’s good with a sword his skill with a bow is  _ unmatched _ in his generation.

Magnus looks interested. “You’ll have to show me later, but if I know anything about shadowhunters, it’s that they wouldn’t let you out of that academy of yours without you being able to hold your own with a blade.”

“Regardless,  _ darling, _ you should expect to spend most of your time on your knees,” Magnus continues. He gives Alec a sharp smile. “How better to serve your king, after all?”

Alec shivers. Right.  _ Fuck. _ The fact that he can’t go more than five minutes without wanting to get on his knees for Magnus is honestly the least of his problems. Magnus is smirking at him like he  _ knows that. _

“Do you have clothes, or should I conjure some up?” Magnus asks, sliding out of the bed.

Startled by the abrupt change in subject, Alec blinks, then shakes his head when Magnus looks over his shoulder at Alec, clearly waiting for an answer. “I didn’t bother, I thought I’d buy some—”

“Unnecessary,” Magnus dismisses. He throws open one of the other doors — apparently the door into a truly  _ massive _ wardrobe — and disappears through it. His voice comes out, muffled but still clear, “I quite like the idea of providing you with your wardrobe.”

“Is that like — a money thing? A control thing, what—” Alec asks, or tries to. 

“You learn quickly, Alexander,” Magnus praises from out of Alec’s sight, and Alec can’t help but bite his lip because — fuck.

So. Alec has the correct answer, and it’s one of the two things he just mentioned. He’s pretty sure it’s not the money thing , so… It’s probably a control thing. And Alec doesn’t think it’s a control thing in the way of being a provider, so — he’s not sure, but he thinks that it’s a control thing in that  _ Magnus _ is choosing what Alec wears; how he looks; how people will  _ see him. _

“Right,” Alec repeats. That’s — fine. He doesn’t really care what he wears anyway, and it’s not like he isn’t used to Izzy trying to dress him up at every available opportunity. It’s — he minds it less, even, coming from Magnus. That’s probably weird.

He also… doesn’t care. The level of control Magnus has over him — the level of control Alec handed over  _ willingly _ when Magus reached for it — it’s comforting. Alec doesn’t have to think about things like this. He doesn’t have to worry, doesn’t have to wonder; there’s no  _ trick _ to Magnus deciding what he wears and that’s… fine. It’s more than fine it’s — it’s comforting, to be able to mark that as something  _ non-essential _ and never have to worry about it again.

He takes the clothes Magnus is holding out for him and gets dressed. They’re probably designer something — they certainly  _ seem _ more elegant than what he usually wears, even if they’re… basically what he usually wears. A sleeveless shirt, leather pants, both in black — he wouldn’t normally pick a shirt like this but it’s not  _ intolerable. _

Magnus has a new jacket and a new pair of boots for him too. Alec has a sneaking suspicion that if he asked where his old pairs of those were, they’d be ‘missing’. All of it fits perfectly, and it’s all  _ comfortable. _ Alec has never given a shit about clothes — still doesn’t — but if this is the difference between the clothes Alec is used to wearing and the stuff Izzy and Jace always do, then Alec finally gets it.

His stele is in his jacket pocket, which Alec should probably be concerned about. A  _ warlock  _ handling his stele? Using  _ magic  _ on it? But he just… can’t muster up the feeling.

The applied concept of  _ dominion magic  _ is a mindfuck, and Alec is suddenly grateful that the Clave  _ doesn’t _ take part in it.

“Breakfast,” Magnus announces, heading out the last door in the bedroom. Alec trails after him obediently.

Magnus conjures up breakfast, too. Alec is sort of surprised — Magnus is notoriously paranoid — but Alec supposes that there are probably enough wards on the apartment to stop Magnus from bleeding to death even if his throat was cut as long as the injury happened within the bounds of it.

Alec can feel the magic of them in his  _ teeth.  _ Alec is in Magnus’s  _ sanctum, _ which he… hadn’t expected. He doesn’t — Magnus isn’t  _ stupid,  _ he had to at least  _ suspect _ Alec was a spy, probably  _ still suspects _ that, but — he doesn’t get why he’s here. Other than the fact that Magnus seems to have plans for him, just like Alec has his  _ orders _ regarding Magnus.

The french toast is good. It’s amazing, actually, even accounting for Alec’s hunger, and he eats more than he usually does — he already eats a lot, considering his lifestyle and physiology — much more than Magnus.

“Shadowhunters,” Magnus muses from next to him. “It never ceases to amaze me that you’re even  _ less _ human than the rest of us.”

Alec pauses in taking a drink, intending to ask what Magnus means, but a fire message appears in the air between them, so he stays quiet as Magnus snaps his hand out to snag it. Magnus’s face brightens as he reads whatever it says.

“Done?” Magnus asks, flicking the message away and letting it burn out of existence. Alec sets down his glass and pushes his plate away, because if something is going on, of  _ course _ he’s done.

“Done,” he agrees.

“Good,” Magnus says, vanishing the remains of their meal and opening a portal. “Because I have something to deal with, and it’s time for me to find out if you’re worth anything to me when you’re  _ not _ on your knees.”

* * *

The ‘something’ Magnus has to deal with is so obviously a trap, and the fact that  _ no one sees that _ is  _ physically painful. _

Apparently, one of Valentine’s experiments failed  _ catastrophically _ and he abandoned it.

The warlock leading them is jumpy — not enough to be noticeable, but more than enough to be suspicious — and she seems to enjoy talking  _ around _ the issue. On top of that, it’s  _ highly _ unrealistic that Valentine would ever leave his experiments just…  _ out, _ like this. If Alec were Valentine, he’d take the results with him, failed or not, simply so that no one fighting him could get his hands on them and figure out what he was doing. Failing  _ that, _ he’d destroy the whole area, for the same reason.

And the only way he’d leave something  _ this important _ out is if it were a) faked, and b) a trap.

“Are you serious?” he asks, interrupting the warlock who had brought this to Magnus — Samantha, he thinks — causing  _ everyone _ in the room to pause.

She turns to him, black eyes flashing. “Excuse me?” she snaps.

Magnus is silent, watching them with glittering eyes, so Alec keeps going. “I mean, the other question I have here is ‘are you stupid’ but I was trying to be polite.”

“This,” he says gesturing at the illusionary map on the table they’re gathered around, “is bait. Something potentially useful enough that it can’t be ignored but not big enough to take a big task force — it’s a trap.”

The woman scoffs, looking at Magnus and rolling her eyes. “Your  _ pet _ clearly needs an education on how things work in the  _ real world, _ Magnus.” The word ‘pet’ is accompanied by a pointed look at Alec’s throat, where Alec knows the bruised imprint of Magnus’s teeth stands out livid against his skin.

“The real world?” Alec asks, keeping an eye on both warlocks as Magnus shifts. “Considering I’m the one who has access to  _ actual training—” _

“Enough,” Magnus says. “She’s right, Alexander, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Alec asks, regardless of how stupid it might be to push. “Because this is exactly what  _ I _ would do, if I was Valentine.”

Magnus’s expression closes off, his eyes flashing dangerously. “If that’s supposed to make me listen to you, Alexander, you’ve miscalculated,” he says, voice clipped and precise.

Alec grits his teeth, because — this is stupid. Alec has  _ no idea  _ why Magnus doesn’t see this is a trap. He also knows that Magnus  _ really _ isn’t going to listen to him now — he’s looking at Alec like… Alec shivers. Alec is going to pay for this, later.  _ Dearly. _

The worst part is, Alec is about to make whatever Magnus has in store for him  _ worse, _ because… he can’t back down on this, because he’s  _ right. _ Alec knows how Valentine thinks — he’s been able to accurately predict Valentine’s movements before, and even more; he’s been able to figure out Valentine’s  _ motivations _ for doing things. He spends a lot of time trying not to think about how similar they are, he and Valentine. 

“Magnus,” Alec starts, but Magnus makes a sharp motion of his hand and Alec’s mouth snaps shut involuntarily.

“I think I’ve had enough of you talking for now, Alexander,” Magnus says, turning back to the table and the other warlock.

Alec has to unlock his jaw to speak, and when he does it feels like ants are biting his tongue.  “You told me I was useful to you for things  _ other _ than sex, Magnus.”

Magnus turns back to him, and he looks… surprised, and it’s not in a good way. Alec doesn’t know what he’s just done —  _ something,  _ clearly, that he shouldn’t have, or shouldn’t have been able to — but he keeps going.

“This is an  _ ambush, _ Magnus,” Alec says. His lips sting.  “Just because you don’t like what I’m saying doesn’t mean I’m  _ wrong.” _

Samantha speaks up again. “I realise you’re attached to your new  _ pet, _ Magnus, but he’s poorly trained.”

Alec is getting really tired of both being called Magnus’s pet and her saying it like it’s a dirty word. Like it makes him  _ lesser _ that Magnus wants to own him — which, Alec is pretty sure Magnus owns everything and everyone in this room, so he’s not sure what her issue is — and that Alec is on board with that, too.

“I’m seeing that,” Magnus agrees. Alec’s training is the only thing that stops his flinch.

“Since you’re so invested, Alexander, you’re in luck — you’re coming with us, and you can be paranoid to your heart's content while we’re there,” Magnus tells him. The _and after,_ _you will pay for your defiance,_ goes unsaid.

The implication makes Alec feel ill. But he’s not going to fail his fucking mission — or his king, but he’s trying hard to not think about that part, how strong of a compulsion that is, to  _ serve his king _ —   _ on the first day _ after everything he’s already put himself through. He got too much motivation — and pride — for that.

“Fine,” Alec says. “What did you do with my car?”

Magnus’s eyes flash again, but if Alec is already going to be paying for this, he’s done caring about making it worse. The bond is constricting around his chest and arms, and Alec flexes his fingers. It feels angry but… not with him? He blinks down at his hands, even though he can’t  _ see _ it wrapped around his wrists, because… Magnus is angry with him. He’d had to  _ push past it _ to speak. But whatever this feeling is isn’t  _ punishment _ and that doesn’t make  _ sense. _

It feels like it’s settling in his skin to  _ stay.  _ Alec would ask Magnus what it  means, but he kind of can’t, right now. He has no idea what Magnus would do with the knowledge, if Alec gave it to him, at least right now, while he’s  _ angry. _ Alec needs to keep Magnus’s attention on him, sure, but  _ not like this. _

A shudder crawls its way up his spine. The bond — the  _ magic —  _ it’s carving out a place for him in  _ Magnus’s kingdom, _ and he has no idea what that place is.

And judging by what’s going on — neither does Magnus. Judging by this…  _ Alec _ is the only one who can feel it happening.

He pushes down a surge of panic because now is  _ really not the time. _

“What do you need your car for, Alexander?” Magnus drawls, when Alec doesn’t say anything else. He’s humoring Alec, for a certain value of it — the condescension dripping from every word makes it clear that every word from  _ Alec _ is going to be making the punishment he’s earning  _ worse _ for him.

“My weapons are in it,” Alec snaps back. Samantha is smirking at him from behind Magnus, clearly pleased with how  _ badly _ Alec seems to be handling Magnus not listening to him.

Like Alec is throwing a fit instead of dismissing this entire thing as  _ inconsequential, _ because it is, and there’s obviously no point in arguing when no one is going to listen to him. Not that anyone ever  _ did. _ He’d been hoping that would be  _ different _ with Magnus, and he’s not sure why.

Magnus considers him for a moment and then snaps his fingers; Alec’s weapons appear on the table next to Magnus, and he turns to inspect them.

Alec had only grabbed his bow, his sword, and his dagger. He didn’t need anything else —  _ adamas _ was indestructible, and since only another shadowhunter could use them, he didn’t need  _ extras. _ Well. Other than arrows, but he had grabbed  _ all _ of those on his way out.  _ That _ was something he could afford to not worry about for a while.

There’s one quiver, here — whatever Magnus had done, he hadn’t just summoned everything made of  _ adamas  _ and been done with it — and Magnus looks everything over before motioning Alec forward to take them.

Magnus snags his wrist when Alec reaches for his sword. His grip is tight and bruising. “The only reason,  _ Alexander, _ that you’re coming with me is so that you can  _ continue to make this worse, _ since you seem to be intent on doing that,” Magnus says conversationally. Samantha laughs.

Alec jerks himself out of Magnus’s grip, well aware that the only reason he manages is because Magnus  _ lets him. _ “You think I wouldn’t prefer to be  _ wrong, _ Magnus?”

“I think you want to be important,” Magnus counters. Alec goes cold, feeling like he’s been dunked in icy water.

Alec doesn’t know how or why it’s so easy for Magnus to read him when no one else has ever been able to before, not like this. The bond, maybe, or… Alec doesn’t know how to put it into words, this  _ thing _ between him and Magnus. The way Magnus just  _ knows _ him, in a way that even Jace had to work for, even after they became  _ parabatai. _

“Fine,” Alec says, through the sting on his lips and tongue. “I’m wrong, you’re taking me along so I can dig this hole I’m in deeper. When do we leave?”

Alec is pretty sure they’re ready to leave  _ right now, _ but Magnus takes a pointed five minutes to go over the information Samantha had brought him again. Alec stands behind Magnus at parade rest, ignoring the rest of the room.

Despite the consequences, he hopes he’s wrong.

_ He knows he isn’t. _

The bond burns under his skin.

* * *

The abandoned farm that Valentine was supposedly using as a base for this experiment is in upstate New York, which is  _ convenient. _ So is the fact that the place is  _ mostly intact _ despite the reported degree of failure — magical experiments didn’t usually fail  _ quietly. _

Magnus at least has them all pause at the edge of the property, outside the half-rotted fencing, while he sends his magic seeking across the boundaries, checking for wards and traps.

There’s  _ nothing. _

“It’s likely whatever happened destroyed all the wards,” Magnus says, clearly speaking to Alec even if he’s looking at the house, like Alec doesn’t know how magic works.

Which, of course Magnus knows  _ more _ about magic than Alec does, but Alec knows  _ enough —  _ enough to know that if something had happened to take down wards  _ from the inside, _ this building wouldn’t be standing.

Alec shoves down a stab of annoyance at how  _ complacent _ downworlders are and realises — that must be it. Magnus thinks shadowhunters are idiots. That’s why he’s not worried — his knowledge  _ obviously _ far outstrips Alec’s, much less  _ Valentine’s —  _ because he’s confident in his abilities.

Except, this is exactly how Alec managed to get into his good graces. Between the bond and his anxiety, a shiver goes down his spine, spreading out until he feels the tingling in his fingertips. Magnus, Valentine, the Clave — they’re all  _ overconfident.  _ So sure that  _ they _ have exactly the knowledge and skill to end the war without allying with anyone else.

This is why the war is killing people in droves.

Alec pushes aside that thought for later, though, because right now — right now, what’s important is the fact that Valentine  _ knows _ that Magnus is overconfident, which means that this trap is specifically tailored to him. And Valentine is  _ smart —  _ whatever is waiting inside, it’s going to be something that won’t be easily countered by anyone Magnus would have brought with him — he wouldn’t have baited this trap without being confident in his success.

Unfortunately for Valentine, Alec has turned fucking his plans up into an  _ art. _ It’s a very niche — but useful — skill; the ability to be dropped directly into one of Valentine’s schemes and know  _ exactly _ where to apply force to make everything  _ break. _

And it’s… the  _ other _ reason Alec had taken this mission is because when Valentine had managed to get his hands on Jace, for all that Jace had gone willingly, he’d invited Alec along, too. Not personally — Alec has never met the man, thank the Angel — but via Jace. Jace hadn’t wanted to relay the question, Alec knows, but he hadn’t had a choice. Alec had said no. He’s not sure what his answer would have been if he’d actually considered the offer, but… he hadn’t. The look in Jace’s eyes as he asked — Jace had been  _ begging _ him to say no, and Alec had turned it down without any further consideration.

If the Clave had known, they wouldn’t have trusted Alec’s loyalty, wouldn’t have given him a chance to take this mission, for all they sent him here to die. They’d have killed him themselves.

This time, the point to apply force to —  it’s going to be the fact that Alec  _ exists _ in the same space as Magnus that does it. It won’t be this easy again.

There’s nothing alive in the house — Magnus had checked that, and made it a point to inform Alec of that — so beyond giving each room they pass through a visual once over, Alec doesn’t bother to pay much attention. There’s nothing on the ground floor that’s useful or magical, but one of the other warlocks with them calls them from where they were checking upstairs.

All the walls had been knocked out and it’s all one floor, now, and the space has been maximised. There’s a wall of books, more spread out across a few wooden tables, and another wall is entirely taken up by a modernised brewing setup — cauldrons intermixed with chemistry and medical equipment — and a corner dedicated to equipment that Alec has seen in Izzy’s lab.

Most of the room, is taken up by autopsy tables and bodies. There are a few still half strapped down to the tables, but most of them are stacked neatly, in ill-made coffins, tops missing, or covered with white plastic.

Whatever had been done to them, they’d died in  _ agony. _ Injected with demonic ichor, maybe, or given potions — if Alec had to guess, they had all been mundanes. They could even have been killed via receiving runes, considering the horrific burns several are covered with.

Alec notes the positions of everyone in the room, drawing his bow. Except for Alec, who is still near the stairs, every single person in this room is  _ surrounded. _

He wonders if Magnus would listen, if Alec asked him to light them all on fire.

Probably not.

So when the first body moves — he doesn’t shoot it. Not yet. He watches.

The ones near Magnus wake up first. It’s been a few minutes — long enough that, theoretically, everyone would have dropped their guard, if they’d been on guard in the first place — and if Alec had to guess, the magical power Magnus exudes by  _ existing _ is the catalyst for it. It would make sense, considering as far as everyone is concerned, Magnus  _ is _ the biggest threat in the Downworld.

“Magnus,” Alec says, drawing back his bow, arrow already on the string, and the things don’t react to his voice.

“What  _ now, _ Alexander?” Magnus asks without looking up from the notes he's pursuing.

“Nothing,” Alec says, because the thing  _ not _ reacting to his voice had been the point of the test.

His arrow goes through the head of the thing already halfway to Magnus in the next second, cleanly, sinking into the wall as the body drops to the floor. Magnus whips around at the sound, eyes widening as he takes in the corpses climbing to their feet.

He sends a blast of magic into the chest of the one closest to him and — 

_ Nothing happens. _ Or at least, nothing  _ good. _ It stumbles back a step then just  _ keeps going. _

Alec puts an arrow through it before it can take more than another step forward.

The third one, he puts his shot in its chest, another test; a failed one, because it shrugs  _ that _ off too.

They’re resistant to force, and to fire; or the fire of the  _ other _ warlocks, because Magnus summons  _ hellfire _ and lights up half the room. Alec can feel the burn of the demonic flames like he’s standing right next to it even if he isn’t, and even then… even  _ then, _ they don’t just  _ die, _ they keep moving until they’re nothing but ash.

They find out what the things are capable of when one of them gets its hands on one other warlocks Magnus had brought with them.

The warlock  _ screams _ when it touches him, flesh rippling and bubbling, lines of livid green  _ corruption _ spreading up his arm. He doesn’t scream for long, because the body’s other hand gets planted on his neck, the magical effect — whatever it is —  _ rotting his throat away. _

He’s dead a few seconds later, but the spread doesn’t stop, not until the warlock’s body is nothing but a corpse that looks  _ months _ decomposed.

The others are faring better, although not by much. They’ve retreated to Magnus who is wielding hellfire like he was born to it.

Every single walking corpse is ignoring Alec like he doesn’t exist.

He doesn’t think he’s had an easier time ending a battle since he played bait for a coven of succubi for Izzy and Jace.

Alec has to prioritise protecting Magnus and the two remaining warlocks, because they’re resistant to  _ all magic, _ apparently, and walked through a barrier that should have physically repelled them. Even still, it’s over quickly. Magnus cleared out quite a few of the ones further away with his hellfire,  _ decapitated _ several more with a sword he’d pulled out of the aether, and Alec had picked off the rest.

Alec lowers his bow as Magnus clenches his fist, snuffing out the hellfire raging through the room.

Magnus gives sharp instructions to the other two warlocks before waving a hand and causing every book in the room to disappear in a flash of magic. Alec apparently doesn’t control his expression as well as he should when Magnus does.

“Problem, Alexander?” Magnus says, stepping over one of the bodies at his feet and heading toward Alec.

“I hope you didn’t send those directly to your loft,” Alec says, because at this point, there isn’t anywhere to go but  _ down _ if he hasn’t already hit rock bottom. “Because someone clearly had a  _ magical  _ hand in this, and there’s no telling what else they booby-trapped.”

“Is that an ‘I told you so’, Alexander?” Magnus asks.

“Those are pointless,” Alec says.  “Although if you listened to me next time, I wouldn’t complain.”

Magnus clicks his tongue. “You’re brattier than I expected a shadowhunter to be,” he says.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Alec asks.

“Proving my point,” Magnus says, sotto voice, a strange smile lighting his face.

He waves off a few of the bodies, too — clearly, whatever magic is on them doesn’t stop portal magic from working — and Alec is going to assume, for his own sanity, that Magnus is putting everything somewhere secure.

“Darling, as adorable as that attitude is at the moment, you’re pushing it,” Magnus says, from where he’s taking samples from the potions bench.

Alec barely doesn’t roll his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he tells Magnus.

“That’s the only reason it’s adorable,” Magnus says. Then, a moment later, “We’re done here.”

Alec is too well trained to relax, but  _ finally. _

Although — 

“You’re going to light it on fire when we go, right?” Alec asks Magnus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you feel we've missed a tag let us know
> 
> originally, this fic was supposed to be written/updated biweekly on sundays but you know, that wasn't working for me, so now it'll just be _a_ multi-chaptered fic that will be updated biweekly on sundays. and other times as things happen, i guess, i don't know. i'm bad with schedules.


	5. mutar, cambiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re going to be talking about this,” Magnus says idly. Alec looks down at Magnus’s hand, nails painted a brilliant, fiery red, then up at his face. Magnus blinks his burning cat eyes at Alec lazily, looking all the world like a predator that has decided to _play_ with their prey instead of getting it over with.
> 
> Alec does manage to control his expression this time. “I’m in trouble, I remember,” he agrees. It’s not like he’s not used to dealing with the consequences of being _right_ when someone didn’t want him to be.
> 
> Magnus makes a non-committal humming noise that Alec has no idea how to interpret, but lets him go. Alec waits for a second, off balance, before starting into action again when he realises Magnus is almost to the portal and Alec is just _standing there,_ right where Magnus left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is almost late because earlier today i ripped out half of it, scrapped part of that half entirely, moved the other quarter to chapter six, and then rewrote what was going on in this chapter because it refused to work.
> 
> chapter title is "mutate, change"

Magnus does, in fact, light the entire building on fire — with hellfire — before they go. Alec isn’t sure if it’s because he said something or because Magnus always planned to do that, but he can’t  _ ask _ so he just settles for being satisfied that Magnus is  _ listening to him _ now.

Although he seems to have — somehow — pleased Magnus by being bitchy. He… probably should have kept a better handle on that, but… He takes a breath, trying to settle his thoughts.

Whatever his relationship is with Magnus, the  _ bond _ between them, the  _ loss _ of his bond with the Clave — it’s  _ changing _ him somehow. Making him more like Magnus wants him to be? Making him act more like Magnus wants him to act? That… can’t be true, though, because Magnus had been angry with him earlier.

The magic hadn’t, though. The magic had been wrapped like shackles around his wrists, and he thinks that’s just how their bond has manifested, but they hadn’t  _ hurt. _ They’d been tight, restricting, but not  _ punishing. _ Not in the way that Magnus’s gaze and words had been.

It’s like all the words he bit his tongue bloody to keep inside are coming out without him intending them to. It’s…  _ freeing. _ To be able to say what he thinks, the way Izzy and Jace did. They’d never bothered to  _ hide themselves _ the way Alec had  _ had to.  _ He’d had to be above reproach as much as he was able in order to prevent the Clave from abandoning him. Sending him on a suicide mission or stripping him of his runes or tossing him into the Gard or even just executing him.

He pauses. Maybe that’s why. 

Magnus had told him their bond was built on  _ desperation. _ What else has Alec been desperate for, if not to  _ not have to hide? _

He shakes himself out of his musing when Magnus finishes directing the hellfire into scorching the entire property — “If you want it lit on fire, Alexander, you’ll have to content yourself with waiting because I’m hardly going to leave hellfire raging  _ unsupervised.” _ — and opens a portal. Alec pushes himself off the  tree he was leaning against and heads over, only to be stopped by Magnus’s hand on his chest when Alec goes to pass him.

“We’re going to be talking about this,” Magnus says idly. Alec looks down at Magnus’s hand, nails painted a brilliant, fiery red, then up at his face. Magnus blinks his burning cat eyes at Alec lazily, looking all the world like a predator that has decided to  _ play _ with their prey instead of getting it over with.

Alec does manage to control his expression this time. “I’m in trouble, I remember,” he agrees. It’s not like he’s not used to dealing with the consequences of being  _ right _ when someone didn’t want him to be.

Magnus makes a non-committal humming noise that Alec has no idea how to interpret, but lets him go. Alec waits for a second, off balance, before starting into action again when he realises Magnus is almost to the portal and Alec is just  _ standing there, _ right where Magnus left him.

He has  _ got _ to get a handle on this. He’s not going to be able to function if he doesn’t figure out how to stop himself from turning  _ off _ every time Magnus fucking touches him.

He gets the feeling that Magnus is going to facilitate that whether Alec can handle it or not, considering their conversation — if it could be called that — last night. This morning. His sense of time got blurred sometime during his meeting with the Clave. He’s pretty sure he started dissociating somewhere in there, sometime after he managed to get out of the Institute and — later.

Magnus is waiting for him on the other side of the portal. The other warlocks have dispersed — Magnus had given them instructions Alec hadn’t paid much attention to before they’d left the building since it wasn’t his problem — except for Samantha, the warlock Alec had been introduced to earlier, the one who had brought Magnus the information.

Which had turned out to be a trap.

Despite what Magnus might think — and Alec isn’t sure what Magnus thinks, to be honest, doesn’t know him well enough yet —  _ Alec _ thinks she was in on it.

If this keeps going like it’s started — Alec noticing things that other people don't and getting  _ ignored _ and  _ shut down _ when he points them out — he’s going to get tired of being right.

“Samantha, my dear,” Magnus says, moving away from Alec with a spring in his step. “We simply  _ must _ talk about where you got that information you gave me.”

The woman is staring at Magnus with an expression in her eyes Alec can’t interpret, the facets of them — glinting like gems —  too alien for him to make sense of. But he can see the way she has a white-knuckled grip on the table in front of her, before she pastes a smile on her lips and rounds it to greet Magnus.

Alec doesn’t know if it’s his training or the bond that makes him move, before he even consciously registers that she’s reaching for a weapon. It’s instinct either way — because he reacts before Magnus does, and Magnus has the benefit of  _ holding _ the bonds that connect him to his subjects. 

* * *

Magnus hasn’t lived this long, been  _ who he is, _ without having a…  _ healthy _ sense of paranoia, no matter anyone else’s opinions on the matter. Despite that, Alexander  _ still _ manages to be faster than him, twisting between Magnus and the knife that Magnus didn’t even see Samantha pull.

He stumbles slightly from the push Alexander gave him — and isn’t  _ that _ curious, that the shadowhunter had managed to  _ physically move him _ without Magnus’s magic reacting — and in the time it takes to steady himself, it’s  _ very clear _ Alexander doesn’t need his intervention.

Alexander has his sword in his hand, and despite Samanatha parrying his strikes, he clearly outclasses her. She’s lost her staid expression, her face twisted with fury and fear, but Alexander is handling himself admirably. He’s got a blank look of concentration on his face — quite like earlier, when he had  _ handled _ Valentine’s little trap — and Magnus realises Alexander is  _ baiting her _ a bare second before he’s sliced open her arm from wrist to elbow then  _ skewed her. _

The dagger drops from her lax fingers, the sound when it hits the floor the  _ only _ sound in the suddenly quiet — and empty — room. 

Just the two of them and a corpse. 

Magnus can’t stop staring at Alexander. He’s got blood on his hands and spatters of it decorating his shirt and neck, the lower half of his face. And then Alexander  _ checks on him, _ like Mangus’s safety is his  _ responsibility, _ eyes flicking over Magnus’s body absently to confirm his  _ lack _ of injuries.

Alexander just defended him.  _ Alexander just defended him. _ Without a thought, without hesitation — he’s not a spy. Magnus had decided last night he didn’t care if Alexander was, had been  _ almost sure  _ he was but had planned on keeping him anyway, but now… It’s been a day. Even with the bond settling, even with  _ how strong it is, _ there’s no way a  _ Clave spy _ would attempt to save Magnus’s life. He’s on their most wanted list, right below Valentine and that son of his.

(He might be placed higher than Valentine’s son, actually, but the Clave takes betrayal  _ so personally…) _

Alexander had told him the truth. Rejected, dismissed,  _ overlooked —  _ sent out to his  _ death,  _ because Magnus is sure Alexander knows that the Clave chose proscription over de-runeing because they were hoping to use his death as an excuse to prompt raids and sanctions. As an excuse to attack  _ Magnus. _

Instead… instead they left him ripe for the taking. So utterly  _ desperate _ to belong that he hadn’t even cared that the person giving him that was someone who was supposed to be  _ beneath _ him, hated and feared. They’d been so  _ eager _ to put Alexander to use, so  _ sure _ of themselves, so confident that they knew how Alexander would react that they hadn’t even realised the opportunity they were handing Alexander — and Magnus — on a platter.

Magnus has  _ never _ been good at denying himself things. The Clave should have remembered that.

Because now? Now, he belongs to Magnus. 

And Magnus is  _ never letting him go. _

Alec is eyeing Samantha’s corpse with a calculating expression on his face, one Magnus isn’t sure his boy is aware he’s wearing.

His boy is… smarter than Magnus gave him credit for, earlier.

He’s already attached to Alexander — such a pretty boy, so  _ eager _ to be wanted — perhaps inadvisably, but despite all the evidence he’d gathered about the man, Magnus hadn’t  _ quite _ put it all together into an accurate picture.

Granted, his prejudice against shadowhunters was well earned, and despite his attachment, it’d take more than a day to shift that  _ away _ from Alexander, despite everything humming between them.

“Alexander,” Magnus says lightly, drawing his attention away from whatever plans are forming in that pretty head of his; Magnus is going to get an explanation, later, but that’s not important right now. Or at least not as important as the  _ reward _ Alexander has earned.

Alexander’s attention is on him immediately, which is something Magnus is sure has more to do with the fact that Alexander considers Magnus his commander than the fact that it’s obvious  _ Magnus wants his attention,  _ and Magnus lets a slow, pleased smile spread across his face.

Magnus  _ loves _ putting on a show — Alexander’s  _ real _ reward will happen later, and what a show  _ that _ will be, although he’ll let that be a  _ surprise —  _ and he knows that Alexander will be… properly appreciative audience.

Magnus can  _ see _ Alexander’s brain switch gears, from calculating to  _ interested, _ if confused. Which is understandable, because Alexander is still under the impression that Magnus is angry with him and there’s a punishment in his future.

Fortunately for Alexander, Magnus isn’t in the habit of killing the messenger, or punishing people for being right, even if he doesn’t like what they’re right about.

Magnus takes a step forward, closing the bare distance between them, and wraps his hands loosely around Alexander’s wrists. He keeps his eyes on the man’s face as he raises one of Alexander’s blood covered hands to his lips and licks the blood off Alexander’s fingers.

Alexander wavers and almost drops to his knees, a whimper escaping from his parted lips, eyes hazy and dark with arousal. He can’t go far with Mangus’s hands on his wrists — or he could, but he won’t, because he knows Magnus wants him exactly where he is — which, Magnus thinks, is probably the only reason he manages to stay upright.

“Not yet, darling,” Magnus purrs. As much as he’d like Alexander’s mouth back on him, that’s not on the agenda at the moment. Alexander moans when Magnus sucks another of his fingers into his mouth, but stays still. He’s trembling, panting, and Magnus can see how he can  _ barely think, _ as Magnus cleans off another of his fingers.

It really is a pity that Alexander has in no way earned Magnus’s mouth on his dick —  _ that _ would require something much, much more noteworthy than handling an assassination attempt that Magnus was perfectly capable of handling on his own — because Magnus thinks Alexander would come  _ immediately, _ just from the barest press of the metal in Magnus’s tongue on him.

Suddenly, the only thing Magnus can think about is how good his boy’s mouth would feel if  _ Alexander _ had a bar of metal in his tongue, the way Magnus does. How hot it would be, how much Alexander would  _ get off _ on the added sensation, the way he already does on Magnus’s piercings.

Lilith, he’s going to pierce him, mark his boy up permanently. His tongue, and his lip, too, Magnus decides, as he finishes cleaning off Alexander’s hand. His nipples, because he’ll look  _ so pretty _ like that.

Alexander is making soft little noises, like he’s afraid to be too loud, as Magnus switches his mouth to Alexander’s other hand. He’s shaking and  _ practically coming,  _ just from Magnus’s mouth on his hands — because of  _ course _ his hands are more or less an erogenous zone, considering how important they are to his profession — and as interested as Magnus is in finding out if Alexander can actually come from this, that’s pushing over from  _ reward _ into something more  _ intent. _

Magnus let’s go of Alexander’s clean hand and unzips his jeans, then guides their hands — Alexander’s still with blood streaked on it, because Magnus had only cleaned some of it off — to Alexander’s dick. 

Alexander  _ whines _ and fucks into their combined grip, already on edge, and it only takes a few thrusts — Magnus moving their joined hands in tandem, letting Alexander chase the strokes — before he comes with a sob.

Magnus licks the mess off their hands, humming, pleased, with the taste of Alexander’s release and the blood on his tongue. Alexander whimpers as he watches, panting like he’s run a marathon, even though Magnus has — objectively — barely touched him.

“Good boy,” Magnus purrs, closing the space between them to kiss his boy, sharing the taste on his tongue. Alexander moans, kissing back eagerly, and Magnus lets go of Alexander’s hand so he can wrap one hand around the back of Alexander’s neck, thumb digging into the bruise he left on Alexander’s throat.

He tugs lightly on Alexander’s hair with his other hand, earning himself another moan, as Alexander fists his hands in Magnus’s shirt, clinging to Magnus like Magnus is the only thing grounding him.

Magnus finds he quite likes the idea, that Alexander is already turning to Magnus on his own, without Magnus giving him a subtle  _ push _ in the right direction.

“Magnus,” Alexander begs, voice breaking halfway through. His dick is out, half hard, wet and streaked with blood, but he’s desperate for more. More friction, more pleasure, more of  _ Magnus, _ because Magnus was right, earlier, even if it didn’t  _ quite _ apply to the situation — Alexander wants to be important to someone.

Or — he’d been desperate to be important to  _ someone,  _ before, but now he wants to be important to  _ Magnus. _

Magnus makes a soothing noise, rubbing his thumb lightly over the bruise on Alexander’s throat, as he quiets Alexander down. “Not right now, darling,” Magnus says, ignoring the way Alexander’s fingers clutch at his shirt in an attempt to stop him from pulling away. “I’ll fuck you later.”

Alexander goes still under his hands for a few moments then pulls back.  _ Something _ flashes over his face for a moment before his expression settles into blankness. He’s practically in  _ parade rest. _

Magnus raises an eyebrow in inquiry, because that’s certainly not the reaction he expected.

“Is this the talk?” Alexander asks after a beat of silence. That doesn’t actually clear anything up about Alexander’s reaction, but he continues before Magnus can say anything. “The one about — where I’m in trouble and what that means?”

Magnus… does not like the implication of Alexander’s statement. Does not like the implication that Alexander thinks Magnus is going to, what? Punish him for stopping an assassination attempt? Two of them, since Samantha’s attack had clearly been improvised and the ambush planned?

Magnus barely refrains from scoffing to cover up the surging of the bond in his head. “I’m hardly going to punish you for being  _ right, _ Alexander,” he says.

He’s met with silence. Magnus studies Alexander’s face carefully and — 

He really  _ did _ expect to be punished for being right.

“If I did punish you,” Magnus asks abruptly, “would you not speak up next time? Would you stay quiet and risk things going wrong?”

More silence. He  _ wouldn’t have, _ Magnus already knows that about him. 

What had they  _ done _ to him? 

“How many times did they punish you for telling them things they didn’t want to hear, Alexander?” Magnus asks softly, tracing his fingers along Alexander’s jaw. He  _ feels _ Alexander repress his flinch at the action. “How many times did they punish you for being  _ right?” _

“I—” Alexander says shakily, leaning into Magnus’s touch almost against his will, pulled in by his desire for comfort and the bond and a fragile,  _ burning _ hope.

“Did you try to stop, once? Force yourself to stay quiet? Did they punish you for  _ that _ too?” Magnus continues, voice still soft. So pretty and  _ broken, _ his boy. Broken deliberately, with malice? Or by happenstance? Magnus wouldn’t put it past the Clave to have done the first, even though his opinion of their competence supports the second.

“They tell you horror stories about me, don’t they darling? But I’ve already treated you better than they ever have.”

Alexander’s breath hitches.

The bond is twisting between them, magic coating Magnus’s hands and arms like he’s dipped them in water. The bond is meant to give both parties what they need from each other — it’s why Magnus refuses to hold personal oaths, most of the time, leaving his subjects to swear to people increasingly higher ranked than them, so that he has  _ space. _ He holds the oath of every subject in his court but not every subject in his kingdom, despite having the power for it, theoretically. He doesn’t want to, though, because each bond… like with Alexander, there’s always the chance that it’ll be strong enough to  _ affect him. _

What Alexander wants from him —  _ needs  _ from him — isn’t immediately clear, though. Not a protector, no, there’s nothing like a  _ shield _ in this feeling, and nothing like a blade, either. 

It’s not settled, yet. Magnus will know when he  _ knows, _ and no sooner. It won’t be something Magnus can’t — or won't — give. That’s not how the magic works.

Magnus wonders what Alexander feels, where it’s wrapped around and in him.

“I take care of what’s mine,” Magnus says, rubbing his thumb over Alexander’s bottom lip. “Even if you had been in trouble, darling, even if I had been planning to have a talk with you that included  _ punishment, _ I never would have done that to you after you stepped forward in my defense.”

The thought fills him with revulsion. The fact that they’d  _ misused _ someone loyal to them — Magnus can’t even imagine it. He suffers no disloyalty, no  _ traitors _ or fools, but he’d never do such a thing to someone  _ loyal. _

And they say  _ he’s _ the monster.

He  _ loathes _ the Clave.

“But you’d proven yourself before that,” Magnus says, when Alexander continues to stay silent. “That’s not what our talk was going to be,  _ is _ going to be about.”

“What’s it about, then?” Alexander asks, voice remarkably steady, lips moving under Magnus’s fingers and voice vibrating under Magnus’s hand on his throat. 

“Your clearly underutilised skills,” Magnus says, as Alexander gives in and leans into his touch fully. “You accurately predicted the trap, after all, even if you didn’t know what the purpose was.”

“To kill you,” Alexander mumbles, eyes closed now, “why else would they have one of your warlocks deliver the bait?”

This gives Magnus pause. “You knew she was a traitor?”

Alexander shakes his head. “She was nervous and clearly knew something she wasn’t saying, but she could have just had misgivings.”

“What gave it away, then?” Magnus prompts. He catches Alexander’s sigh on his fingertips.

“Valentine doesn’t leave things behind without a purpose. He wanted you there, and he wants you dead because you’re one of the leaders of the Downworld and he hates all of you,” Alexander explains.

“And…” Alexander starts to continue, then hesitates. “I’m… I was telling the truth, before, when I compared myself to Valentine. It’s been… useful, being able to guess how he thinks because we’re similar.”

“Not in so many ways, I think,” Magnus murmurs thoughtfully. With how they  _ approached things, _ solved problems, but not their lines of thought. Valentine would die before considering a downworlder his equal, much less his superior. 

“We’re going to filter our intelligence through you, now, I think,” Magnus says. “Hardly productive to  _ not _ consult you before any war decisions.”

Alexander blinks at him in surprise, expression cracked open and easily readable. He’d had  _ hope _ when Magnus had started talking, a small, flickering flame, but he hadn’t expected Magnus to fan the flames, not really.

He definitely wasn’t expecting for Magnus to give him what amounts to a rather high promotion, for Magnus to give him  _ responsibilities. _ Magnus has to shove down a rather vicious surge of satisfaction, which he honestly isn’t sure is from the bond or  _ himself. _

Even barring the fact that Alexander is entitled to Samantha’s rank, since she proved herself a traitor and Alexander was the one to take her head, he’ll  _ flourish _ in this position, and that’s what the dominion magic  _ wants. _

His new rank is going to be considerably higher than hers, so the fact that he took hers isn’t important, so Magnus doesn’t bother to explain  _ that _ little aspect of his new life, at least not yet.

And more than that, the last of Magnus’s doubts about Alexander’s story, what Alexander is  _ doing here, _ are washed away. There isn’t a chance on Earth or in any hell that a Clave spy would  _ save his life,  _ no matter why he’d been sent in to spy on Magnus, not when Magnus’s death would make things a hundred times simpler for the shadowhunters.

The Clave has no idea what they’ve given up. They can’t, because if they had known, why would they ever have done it?

One day, Magnus is going to make sure they  _ do. _


	6. lugar de adoración

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It requires more study, but between the books and the bodies I’ll be able to figure out how and why it worked,” Magnus continues, sending the book he’d been holding away with a flash of magic.
> 
> “I imagine most warlocks will need a better solution that martial combat,” Alec says in absent agreement, flicking through another set of pages. Some sort of potion formula, he thinks.
> 
> “So tell me about your change of heart with being naked in public, Alexander,” Magnus says. Alec fumbles and scatters the pages he’d been holding, looking over at Magnus with wide eyes.
> 
>  _“Here?”_ he asks incredulously. Magnus wants to have a conversation about — about Alec’s hangups, while they’re in probably hostile territory, hunting for relevant information?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Metaphysical Body Horror
> 
> chapter title is "place of worship"
> 
> Update! I'm scrapping the biweekly posting schedule for a number of reasons, so from now on, the fic will be updated as the chapters are finished. There will be additional notes on this in the end notes.
> 
> 5/8/2019 - So. We're going to take a moment to talk about commenting etiquette. Obviously, comments are great! The vast majority of the ones we get on our fics make us smile and some literally make our day. There are a few of you we know by name because your comments are always super interesting to read!
> 
> That being said. There have been a few incidents now of people leaving comments that are _not_ great. I came into this fandom intending to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. I did. But after the issues we ran into with the first few fics we posted, I decided that I had no motivation to pretend that I'm _not_ an asshole.
> 
> There are types of comments you shouldn't leave on fics, and I'm going to address two different types of them.
> 
> 1) You should not leave comments with complaints about the writing thinly veiled as _unsolicited_ concrit. Seriously. Unless an author specifically asks for concrit, you don't leave it, and a complaint about someone's writing style is _definitely_ not concrit. Another aspect of this is, if you _don't like how something is being written_ , you stop reading it. Seriously. If something about the writing bothers you, hit the back button. This applies to all fics. I regularly do this myself. The ONLY thing we encourage readers to point out is if they think we missed tagging something, which is a thing that happens. Seriously, feel free. Actually, if you notice a minor spelling mistakes/wrong word issues, that's also fine as long as you're respectful. Editing is hard.
> 
> 2) Do not ask for updates. It's not flattering. We don't owe anyone anything. No author owes you anything. This is something we do for fun. You know what makes this less fun, and even frustrating? People who leave comments that go "Please update" or any variation of that. I get it, you're enjoying the fic and you want more, you want to know what happens next. I also read fanfic, and I read WIPs and I'm always dying to know where it's going and waiting on the edge of my seat for the next update. 
> 
> It is never, _ever_ appropriate to leave comments that imply that the author, who is practicing their _hobby_ , isn't holding up to your standards or isn't working fast enough for you or whatever other reason you have for leaving that comment.
> 
> There is a HUGE DIFFERENCE between asking for an update and saying "I can't wait for the next update", etc.
> 
> I get that some of you are just trying to say that you enjoy the story and are looking forward to more. The solution is to _say that_ without questioning timeframes. That's it, that's what you need to avoid. Even if the author says they have a posting schedule and fail to keep it. _Don't_.
> 
> For the most part, we ignore comments of this nature anyway. I'm also going to say, since I know some of you read the comments other people leave, that we would prefer you do not engage with others on our behalf on these topics. It's unnecessary, I promise.
> 
> The thing is, I'm not the kind of person who wants to educate others on this sort of thing most of the time. But considering I spent today having an anger-induced panic attack, for my own peace of mind I kind of have to. I get that fic authors are immediately accessible, but there's _no_ reason to assume that you can walk up to someone who is, for most intents and purposes, _a stranger_ , and act like you have a right to question how they're doing things. You don't.
> 
> And if you _do_ leave comments of that nature, well. I am, as previously stated, an asshole. I'm going to be relatively polite about it, but I'm going to be extremely blunt if I choose to respond to a comment of that nature, and I'm not going to apologise for it. I'm not going to be rude unless things devolve, but I'm also not going to hold someone's hand on the topic.
> 
> We also don't owe anyone an explanation for why something is late or why we're changing how things work.
> 
> If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then there is zero chance I mean you with any of this.
> 
> — Saeth

The bond is still wrapped in living chains around his wrists and forearms, but it’s snaking up his arms towards his shoulders now.

It’s almost everything he ever wanted for the taking. The bond, Magnus’s words, even  _ Magnus. _

And he’s… 

He’s not here to — he’s not under any illusions. The Clave sent him in, not in the hopes that he’d find information. Alec has serious doubts about the ‘intelligence’ they’d supposedly received; oh, he has no doubts there are downworlders considering throwing themselves at Valentine’s feet, begging for mercy, Samanatha was proof of that, but Magnus? Magnus  _ hated _ shadowhunters, and Alec can’t see him allying himself with a man who thought him  _ lesser. _

Magnus is every inch a king. He didn’t  _ bow. _ And certainly not to a man who considered him little more than a demon, something to be wiped out,  _ eradicated. _

This mission was a suicide mission in more ways than one. He knows they’d accept him back into the fold, if he brought them good enough information — something they  _ could _ persecute Magnus for — because there’s no way the Clave didn’t know that Magnus would die before working with Valentine.

They want Alec out of the way,  _ dead, _ so they can safely kill Jace. The brightest shadowhunter of his generation, Valentine’s  _ son? _ Shaped by him during his formative years, and the man he’d  _ eagerly _ defected to when given the chance?

They want his head, just as much if not  _ more _ than the Downworld does.

But there’s Alec. Alec, who hadn’t defected. Alec, who is still protected by the  _ parabatai _ laws. They can’t move against Jace without Alec denouncing him, and Alec would  _ die _ first.

Which is why they sent him  _ here. _

They hadn’t expected it to work.  _ Alec _ hadn’t expected it to work. He’d been planning on catching the eye of someone important enough that they couldn’t claim he wasn’t carrying out his mission to the best of his abilities and doing his best to stay alive as long as possible, no matter what he had to do to ensure that.

Alec had made his appeal in secret, because he’d known there would be a price, even if they had no choice but to tell him yes or violate a law so entrenched in their blood that they’d have brought the wrath of Raziel himself down on themselves, if they’d dared to tell him no.

Jace probably won’t even know something’s wrong until after Alec is already dead. 

Alec is under no illusions about his chances of survival.

That line he planned to walk… it doesn’t exist. There’s just this terrifying  _ drop  _ under him, where he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, and one day he’s going to slip and Magnus will  _ throw him off. _

Magnus is wrong.  _ Alec _ is the monster.

Because Magnus thinks he’s loyal, now. And he  _ can’t be.  _ He can’t pick Magnus over Jace.

He shifts a little under Magnus’s hands, thoughts still going rapid-fire, and realises rather uncomfortably that he’s… got his jeans unzipped, still, his dick still out.

The realisation makes shame twist in his stomach. The old reaction that came from the fact that he let another man touch him, something he’d thought he was  _ over, _ but apparently isn't.

“Darling,” Magnus says, “I think I’d like to know what you’re thinking.”

Alec goes cold. The feeling of shame crawls up his throat, stealing his words. He doesn’t know what to  _ say. _

Having a breakdown over the fact that he’s lying to Magnus would be ridiculous. But that’s what he feels like, right now, like all the fragile pieces of himself that he’s held carefully together are fracturing.

He has no idea what to tell Magnus that will satisfy him and not give everything away.

“I was thinking that I should get dressed before anyone comes back,” Alec says, because that’s… something that  _ is _ currently bothering him.

“I don’t think that was it, but it’s interesting and we’ll come back to it,” Magnus says, before a wave of magic crawls over their bodies, flashing across his vision before fading and leaving them both… presentable. “Try again, darling. And don’t expect second chances in the future.”

Alec has… many conflicting emotions at the instruction. Excitement, shame,  _ desire —  _ the very fact that Magnus wants to know what he’s thinking, what he’s  _ feeling, _ even if it’s not important to the mission is… 

He  _ wants, _ because it makes it sound like Magnus  _ cares. _

He swears he can hear the chains around his arms hissing as they move.

“I was thinking that last night you were threatening to kill me and earlier today you were threatening to punish me and I don’t understand why those things aren’t happening,” Alec admits, because it’s the safest thing he can admit to.

“You’re interesting, Alexander,” Magnus says, still cupping his cheek, “and I don’t meet many interesting people.”

Magnus is  _ breaking him, _ and it’s not… it’s not  _ bad, _ it’s  _ good, _ Magnus is breaking him the way you break a bone that set wrong. Alec has no idea what he’ll look like, if he manages to survive this.

“I…” Alec hesitates, then leans forward to press his lips to Magnus’s.

Magnus lets him, kisses him back, flicking his tongue against Alec’s lips and making a pleased humming noise when Alec parts them eagerly.

Alec feels lightheaded as they kiss, leaning into Magnus, resting his hands on the other man’s hips. When Magnus breaks the kiss, Alec chases after him with a discontented noise.

“Not right now,” Magnus repeats, the same order as before.

Alec tries to get himself under control, willing his breath to calm. His lips are tingling.

The chains are wrapped all the way up his arms and around his shoulders, now. It’s a comforting weight, even if it shouldn’t be.

He licks his lips and steps away from Magnus. “What now?” he asks, even as he misses the warmth of where they’d been pressed together.

Magnus watches him with a considering look on his face. “Samantha’s wards will have died with her, unless she risked having someone else set the wards on her lair. We’re going to go through it and see what we can find.”

_ We. _ Alec dips his head in acknowledgment and bites his tongue to still his instinctive  _ ‘sir’. _

-

They spend a frustrating few hours going through Samantha’s lair, but the woman hadn’t kept any correspondence from Valentine, if any had existed in the first place. Fire messages couldn’t be intercepted, but Alec knew for a fact that they left traces behind that let a skilled warlock  _ remake _ them, even after they’d been destroyed.

The do find some evidence that Samantha might have had a part in the creation of the strange Forsaken.

“It looks like they were experimenting with Dantalion demons,” Magnus says, snapping the grimoire shut, cool rage in his voice. “Combined with the runes they used — which took extensive experimentation, by the looks of it — they managed to make them more durable than they should be, regardless of their origin and the injections they were given.”

“What runes?” Alec asks, still searching through the many papers and books scattered around Samantha’s lab in the vain hope that he can find something,  _ anything, _ that came from Valentine.

“Sangliers, enkeli, quietude, manifest, and  _ agony  _ of all things,” Magnus relays distractedly, and Alec has to hide his instinctive flinch because something in him quails at the idea of warlocks having such intimate knowledge of runes.

“It requires more study, but between the books and the bodies I’ll be able to figure out how and why it worked,” Magnus continues, sending the book he’d been holding away with a flash of magic.

“I imagine most warlocks will need a better solution that martial combat,” Alec says in absent agreement, flicking through another set of pages. Some sort of potion formula, he thinks.

“So tell me about your change of heart with being naked in public, Alexander,” Magnus says. Alec fumbles and scatters the pages he’s holding, looking over at Magnus with wide eyes.

_ “Here?” _ he asks incredulously. Magnus wants to have a conversation about — about Alec’s  _ hangups, _ while they’re in probably hostile territory, hunting for relevant information?

“Alexander,” Magnus says, a clear warning.

It’s — it’s absolutely ridiculous, that  _ this _ is the sort of thing he’s not allowed to question Magnus on, about the time and place where they have…  _ discussions _ about sex.

Alec jerks his gaze away, busying himself with putting the papers he’d dropped back in order while he tries to figure out what to say.

He doesn’t know how to answer. How to tell Magnus that there’s a difference between fucking someone while he’s half-dressed and someone seeing him  _ after. _ How last night, in Magnus’s bed, had been the first time he’d had any form of sex naked  _ or _ in a bed. How when he’s still wearing clothes, there’s… plausible deniability. He can  _ pretend, _ he’s still got a barrier between himself and the rest of the world.

He feels a surge of anger overtaking the shame that’s building in his stomach.

“Considering getting caught was taramont to a death sentence, why would I like being naked in public?” Alec snaps, shoving the papers he’s done with aside and picking through some of the others.

There’s silence, no reply, and it makes the hairs on the back of Alec’s neck stand up.

“What did I say about lying to me, Alexander?” Magnus asks softly, stepping into his space. Alec jerks, heart pounding, because he hadn’t even heard Magnus  _ move, _ hadn’t sensed him moving closer at all.

“I’m not lying,” Alec denies, skin crawling at the danger signals he’s picking up from Magnus but refusing to look at Magnus’s face, keeping his eyes on Magnus’s hands. If the man is going to punish him with magic for supposedly lying, he’ll at least have a warning.

The feeling of shame over being caught with a  _ man, _ for being a deviant who should be doing his best to ignore what’s wrong with him, not  _ indulge  _ in it. The thought of people seeing him, them,  _ after…  _ it makes his stomach churn. He might not have minded being half-dressed in public  _ in the moment,  _ but after? No.

“I’m not lying,” Alec repeats. Alec can see Magnus rubbing his fingers together idly.

“You didn’t care that I fucked you in public last night,” Magnus comments, clearly not letting this go. “You  _ loved _ it.”

He had. He has to fight to prevent himself from letting the memory feel tainted because of it.

It’s — it’s one thing to like men. Quick fucks in back alleys, as long as he’s careful, as long as no one  _ finds out.  _ As long as he keeps his head down, doesn’t argue when he’s inevitably given a wife, does his  _ duty to his family. _

He can’t even imagine what any of his cohort would say, if they knew Alec liked being fucked by downworlders in public.

“Answer me,” Magnus says, voice still light but  _ dangerous. _ “Tell me how much you loved it, Alexander.”

_ …Fuck. _

Alec can’t help the shiver that goes through him, even as he keeps his eyes on Magnus’s hands. The shame in his gut is turning into something  _ hotter. _

“I didn’t care while it was happening,” Alec says, because its — that’s not —

“I didn’t care that they were watching,” Alec says. “Not then.”

Magnus laughs and the smirk that curls on his mouth after makes Alec want to step back.

“And you’re lying to  _ yourself.  _ This is  _ rich. _ Oh, darling, I am  _ so _ going to enjoy breaking you,” Magnus says, sounding taunting in a way that makes Alec want to run.

Magnus snaps his fingers and Alec’s eyes snap up to his face. He gets one split second glimpse at burning cat’s eyes, and then — 

Then he’s  _ drowning. _ He moans, barely catching himself on the workbench behind him as his knees try to buckle. His mind is hazy and — he feels like he did right before he passed out last night.

Suddenly, the fact that Magnus  _ isn’t touching him _ is the worst thing about his life right now.

“Magnus, what…” Alec chokes out, voice breaking partway through.

“You’re more honest like this,” Magnus says, instead of explaining. He lifts a hand and brushes his thumb over Alec’s bottom lip. Alec can feel the heat from his other hand from where Magnus is bracing himself against the workbench, almost close enough that their hands are touching.

Alec’s eyes flutter closed the moment Magnus touches him, relief coursing through his body, Magnus grounding him instead of leaving him adrift.

“Tell me, Alexander. Say ‘I loved it’,” Magnus says, voice soft and amused.

Alec can’t help but obey it like the order it is, right now. He can’t hide from himself, from the  _ knowledge _ that he’s been trying to bury.

“I loved it,” he confesses, voice shaking. “Even when I thought you were going to kill me.”

“Why?” Magnus prompts.

“You were… you were showing me off,” Alec says, through the haze in his mind, like he’s deep underwater and everything is muffled. “I could pretend someone actually wanted me, for once.”

“Lots of people want you, Alexander,” Magnus says. “Lots of people wanted you  _ last night.” _

“Not like you,” Alec says. “They don’t want me like you want me.  _ No one _ wants me like you want me.”

Magnus doesn't respond to that, just sweeps his thumb over Alec’s bottom lip again. “Tell me what possible reason you could have to be  _ ashamed _ of what I do to you, darling.”

He knows there are reasons, ones that have nothing to do with Magnus, but they slip away like water through his fingers when he tries to remember them.

“I…” he starts, then whines when Magnus pulls his hand away from Alec’s mouth and slips his fingers into the waistband of Alec’s pants, palm pressed hot against his stomach. “I’m not…”

Magnus presses him back against the workbench more firmly, leaning forward so his breath is hot against Alec’s ear as he speaks. “If  _ I _ think you’re not doing anything to be ashamed of, Alexander, shouldn’t you be listening to me and not the people who  _ threw you away?” _

Alec can’t help what that does to him, despite knowing that he  _ hadn’t _ been thrown away, not like Magnus thinks he was.

He can’t do anything but believe Magnus. Because right now, what Magnus thinks is the only thing that matters, and he’s helpless against it.

“Tonight,” Magnus says, voice low and sweet in his ear, “We’re going to go to Pandemonium and you’re going to ride me in front of everyone until I decide I’m satisfied.”

Alec’s grip on the workbench tightens until he can feel the wood creak.

“Say ‘please’, Alexander,” Magnus says. 

_ “Please,” _ Alec breathes out.

Magnus chuckles and pulls away. “Good boy.”

There’s a surge of heat that spreads out from Magnus’s hand on him, chasing away the heady weight on his mind.

“I thought you  _ wanted _ me to be able to think when you touch me,” Alec says, still half gone on whatever that had been. 

“Learn to tell me what I want to know when I want to know it and I won’t have to take you down like that, Alexander,” Magnus says, finally pulling his hand away from Alec’s skin and stepping away again.

Alec bites his tongue to prevent himself from making a comment about conflicting orders.

It doesn’t help that something in Alexander — the part of him that takes pride in his work — is making him  _ eager _ to learn how to make the things Magnus wants from him work.

Magnus is smirking at him like he knows that and… and Alec can’t help his answering grin as he can’t help but rise to the challenge.

-

Alec’s anxiety over what’s going to happen starts ramping up the moment they step foot into Pandemonium. Magnus is a magnetic presence that draws the eye of every downworlder, and the novelty of a  _ shadowhunter _ at his side means that Alec is the focus of that attention, too.

He’s not used to people  _ looking _ at him. Not like this.

And here, in what amounts to enemy territory still, it makes his skin crawl.

Magnus breezes through the crowd and up the stairs to the VIP area without anyone trying to engage with them, but that doesn’t change the fact that by the time they  _ do _ make it to the seating on the upper level, Alec is wound up as tight as a bowstring.

He tries to make himself relax before Magnus has a chance to notice but it — predictably — doesn’t work.

“Alexander,” Magnus sighs, sounding disappointed. Alec’s stomach twists. “What did I tell you about other people’s opinions?”

Alec swallows to wet his throat before speaking. “I’m surrounded by people who would love to kill me given half the chance, Magnus,” he says. “So forgive me if I’m a little on edge.”

“No,” Magnus dismisses. “And none of them would  _ get _ a chance, Alexander. So what do you have to worry about?”

_ No, _ he won’t be forgiven for anything. Alec makes a mental note to never use that phrase again. “I can’t just turn it off,” Alec tries, trying to… not sound like he’s arguing.

He’s not arguing. He’s… explaining. He’s just not sure how interested Magnus is in that explanation.

Magnus looks him over leisurely, a smirk stretching across his face.  _ “I _ can, darling.” he says, before crooking a finger at Alec. “Come here.”

Alec goes willingly, eagerly. Magnus is right — he  _ can _ turn it off, he can make all of Alec’s worries wisp away into smoke like they never existed. Alec knows it’s dangerous but he wants it anyway. He doesn’t  _ care. _

It’s getting harder to remember why he  _ should. _

Magnus is still smirking when he skims his hand up Alec’s chest, over his shoulder and up his neck, before he winds a hand in Alec’s hair and pulls Alec’s head back.

Heat floods him. There’s before and after Magnus touched him, two seconds, a snapshot apart.  _ Before,  _ tense and thoughts whirling in his head too fast to catch, even when he tried, and  _ after, _ a stab of arousal that spreads from his core out into his body and sends every thought scattering away.

They’re right next to the couch that is the clear centerpiece of the VIP area, and there’s nothing that feels more natural to follow the pull of Magnus’s hand in his hair  _ down _ as Magnus settles himself on it.

Alec ends up sitting in Magnus’s lap, balanced precariously because Magnus is tipping his head back almost to the point of pain. Alec can’t help the breathless whine that leaves his mouth.

His other hand is sliding over Alec’s stomach and chest, under his shirt, thumb circling one of Alec’s nipples. “I’m going to enjoy that,” Magnus murmurs, which doesn’t make sense to Alec but right now he doesn’t care.

Then Magnus pulls his hand away and stops pulling on Alec’s hair, leaving Alec to try to clear the haze in his head enough to figure out what made Magnus  _ stop. _

“Undress,” Magnus says, when Alec focuses on him.

Alec’s thoughts stutter to a halt.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, darling,” Magnus says after a beat of silence, in which Alec doesn’t move.

Alec swallows, then forces himself to let go of the back of the couch and unbutton the bottom button of his shirt.

Magnus watches him, keeping him still with a hand in his hair and another on his hip, and despite not knowing  _ why, _ with every button a little more of his tension unwinds.

It gets easier when he’s undone several buttons and Magnus moves his hand off of Alec’s hip and starts sliding it up his body again, following the open path of skin.

Magnus doesn’t give him further instruction when he’s done with the buttons, so after a moment of hesitation Alec shrugs the shirt off his shoulders and lets it slip down his arms and off, onto the floor.

Magnus’s hand is resting lightly on the hollow of his throat, rings a smooth counterpoint to the heat of his palm.

Magnus’s thumb finds the bruise on his throat as Alec toys with the button of his pants, hesitating over asking Magnus how the man expects him to get those off while he’s holding Alec down.

He forgets about asking completely when Magnus pulls him in for a kiss, the metal of Magnus’s piercing clicking on Alec’s teeth.

Alec whines when Magnus abandons his neck to put a hand on his ass, pulling him up a little and  _ squeezing,  _ leaving Alec bucking helplessly up into nothing but air.

“Unbutton your pants,” Magnus purrs, breaking the kiss only long enough to speak before his lips are on Alec’s again. Alec, who had somehow managed to put one of his hands on Magnus’s shoulder and has another wrapped tightly around Magnus’s arm to brace himself, let’s go of Magnus and unbuttons his pants in jerky motions.

Magnus lets go of his ass and puts his hand on Alec’s thigh, hauling him a little closer, and then the touch is electric because it’s skin on skin.

“Now mine,” Magnus instructs, breaking away again.

Alec’s already on the edge of not being able to think, a combination of arousal and whatever it is Magnus does to him with  _ just a touch _ making his head swim.

It’s an order open to interpretation, and Alec puts his hands on Magnus’s belt without any further consideration.

“There you go,” Magnus says against his lips as Alec undoes Magnus’s pants, flicking open the buttons one after another.

When he’s done, Magnus pulls his head back again, Alec arching helplessly as he does, a moan building in his throat.

He can feel everyone’s eyes on them, at the  _ display _ Magnus is  _ making of him, _ and the fact makes his cock jerk, pre-come smearing across his stomach.

“If you could only see the picture you make, Alexander,” Magnus says, pulling Alec off balance just that  _ little _ bit more to make his muscles start to tremble and strain, enough that if he let Alec go, Alec wouldn’t be able to catch himself. “I could just kill the people who made you doubt yourself.”

Terrifyingly, Alec trusts Magnus to not let him fall. Terrifyingly, Alec already values Magnus’s opinion of him more than nearly everyone who has been in his life up to this point.

“Such a good boy for me,” Magnus says, and Alec has to blink his eyes against the tears forming in them.

Magnus pulls him back up, slowly, controlling every movement Alec makes with just his hand in Alec’s hair, Alec’s body responding to just the barest direction, the softest touch.

Alec’s body is a well honed weapon, and Magnus wields him like Alec was born for his hands. Magnus doesn’t  _ need _ to be harsh to get what he wants from Alec, but why would he bother to be soft when they both know that soft isn’t want Alec wants?

Magnus pulls him in for another kiss — a reward — for being good, for listening to Magnus instead of the voices in his head, Alec doesn’t know and doesn’t care, just falls into it, so hungry for Magnus’s touch that he feels like he’ll die without it.

Magnus’s chest is bare, his shirt barely buttoned — Alec isn’t sure what the point of even  _ wearing  _ it is, since it’s not covering anything important — and he doesn’t object when Alec braces a hand on his stomach and slides the other into his pants to wrap around his cock.

Alec… can’t quite care that everyone is watching them, Alec naked in Magnus’s lap, held still while Magnus kisses him, hand down Magnus’s pants as he slowly jerks Magnus’s cock. It’s just… not there anymore, that part of him that thinks he  _ shouldn’t, _ that there will be consequences, ones he doesn’t want.

“Remember what I told you, darling?” Magnus says, nipping Alec’s bottom lip, a sharp sting.

“Yes,” Alec says, voice hoarse even though he’s barely abused his throat, so far. Magnus pulls his hand away from Alec’s hair and settles himself down a little more before waving his free hand in a magnanimous motion.

“I…” Alec starts, hesitating, but Magnus cuts him off before he can voice his question.

“Haven’t I taken care of you so far, Alexander?” Magnus says, fingers digging into Alec’s thighs.

Alec shuts up and pulls out Magnus’s cock.

The piercings gleam in the neon lights, bright in the head and all the way up and down Magnus’s cock, and Alec can’t wait to find out what they feel like inside him, like this. How they’ll feel when he controls the pace, able to ride Magnus nice and  _ slow, _ feel the drag of them.

There’s a static filled moment where Alec realises that Magnus is using magic to ease the way for his cock as Alec sinks down on him, everything just this side of  _ too much, _ and then his vision whites out as the bond  _ coalesces. _

He comes, spilling all over their stomachs and it’s not Magnus in him that does it.

It’s the bond, spiking through his body and winding around  _ under his skin, _ the chains sliding  _ in _ and  _ settling. _

His shoulders feel hot, his entire body shaking as he tries to breathe, through the pleasure and  _ everything else, _ the bond under his skin and in his body in a way he can’t quite comprehend.

His wrists are ringed in chains, buried half under his skin, and further up, near his shoulder, the chain pierces all the way through before draping lazily around his neck and over his chest and back in loops.

He can feel one of the chains that pierces his chest brushing against his heart every time it beats.

It should hurt. He feels like it should — it should hurt, shouldn’t it?

But it doesn’t, it’s just  _ there, _ a part of him like his runes, and it doesn’t hurt, even as he chokes on the feel of it.

They’re not moving anymore, which is good because — because he’s not sure he could handle that right now, feeling them moving in his skin while he tries not to  _ shake apart _ under the realisation that if he ever wants rid of Magnus, he’ll have to  _ cut him out. _

He’s shaking and his muscles won’t cooperate, body singing with power and pleasure. It’s too much and  _ perfect _ at the same time.

He breaths messily into Magnus’s shoulder, crying, every point of skin on skin contact between them  _ burning. _

“I’m not done,” Magnus says in his ear, hands on Alec’s thighs, thumb running back and forth.

“I can’t,” Alec says, throat dry. His body won’t cooperate. He’s trembling from the effort of just holding himself upright. “I can’t,” he repeats, voice breaking.

_ Raziel have mercy, _ the familiar prayer forms in his mind,  _ Raziel give me strength… _

Magnus is silent for a moment, and then he uses his grip on Alec’s thighs to start pulling him up, and Alec  _ whines _ as he does, before using what little coordination he has to brace himself enough that he can work  _ against  _ Magnus’s grip and slide back  _ down. _

His whine turns into a moan because  _ fuck _ Magnus feels amazing like this, even discounting everything  _ else _ happening to him right now.

_ “Darling,” _ Magnus says, voice low, completely still beneath him, “look at how desperate you are.”

Alec makes a shaky noise, face still buried in Magnus’s shoulder. Magnus guides him up again before letting Alec fuck himself back down on Magnus’s cock, then  _ again —  _

“I wasn’t going to stop,” Magnus says. “I was going to pin you down and fuck you until you screamed but you like riding me, don’t you, darling? You like everyone watching you  _ move.” _

Then he  _ takes his hands away,  _ and Alec can’t do anything but grind his hips against Magnus’s, desperate for  _ more _ but unable to get it on his own.

“Magnus,  _ Magnus, _ fuck, please,” Alec begs, still unable to get his body to cooperate no matter how hard he tries.

“An angel begging is always such a  _ pretty _ sound,” Magnus croons, guiding Alec’s movements again, “but I think I prefer  _ this _ over what I usually get.”

Magnus’s touch, Magnus’s voice, his  _ words —  _ it’s all  _ grounding,  _ and the next time Alec circles his hips it’s under his own power.

“There you are,” Magnus says, fingers digging into Alec’s thighs, “good boy.”

Alec makes a noise — he thinks it might be agreement — before pulling back so he can get better leverage so he can finally move the way he wants to.

It’s good. It’s  _ so good, _ each drag of Magnus’s cock in him building into a pleasure that Alec has never been able to  _ enjoy _ before, not like this.

He likes it slow. They  _ both _ like it slow, Magnus praising him as Alec draws it out.

“I’ve always thought it was pretentious, how your kind claims to be  _ so angelic,” _ Magnus says, pressing new bruises into Alec’s hips, the spark of pain doing more of Alec than he ever thought it would, “but  _ you, _ darling…”

_ “You _ are a fallen angel if there could ever be another,” Magnus continues, stilling Alec’s hips and making him  _ take _ as Magnus finally starts fucking up into him instead of letting Alec set the pace.  _ “And I helped make you.” _

“Such blasphemy,” Magnus says, and the words make Alec’s cock jerk. “My father would be so proud of me.”

“Magnus,” Alec begs, because the words make everything in him  _ shiver _ .

“Do you like knowing that, darling? That I’m going to remember you for the rest of my life, the  _ blasphemy _ of debauching an angel.”

Alec’s hips stutter and he moans again, helpless against Magnus’s words. His body is  _ singing _ with power under Magnus’s hands and he’s  _ so close. _

“You were already mostly there, weren’t you angel?” Magnus ask, voice rough, and he’s close too, Alec can feel it as Magnus’s pace gets more brutal and uneven. “I barely had to touch you at  _ all _ before you threw yourself down at my feet.”

Alec can’t get enough breath in his lungs as he comes again, moaning helplessly as Magnus fucks him through it, drawing it out until black spots dance across Alec’s vision before he finally feels Magnus still and come in him, grip bruising.

There’s come leaking down his thighs, as Alec lets Magnus settle him down so that he’s sprawled out, still naked, over Magnus’s lap, after Magnus pulls out.

Alec feels warm and sated for the first time in his life, Magnus’s hand in his hair, surrounded by people who are his enemies, whether they know that or not. It’s wrong.

_ He’s _ wrong.

“It was the opposite,” Alec says, voice wrecked and only loud enough for the two of them to hear. There’s a bubble of space around them, no one daring to get  _ too close  _ to them after the  _ display _ Magnus just put on.

The one where he made it clear that Alec  _ belongs _ here. Alec knows that much, even if he’s still learning.

“What was the opposite, angel?” Magnus asks, carding his fingers through Alec’s hair and down the back of his neck.

_ Angel _ should sound derisive in Magnus’s mouth, but it doesn’t. “I clawed my way out of hell and into heaven,” Alec says, eyes closed and face turned away so he doesn’t have to look at Magnus and say this. “If that’s how you want to look at how I ended up with you. I didn’t fall.”

Magnus’s hands still for a moment, and Alec can’t help tensing up, but Magnus runs a soothing hand over his shoulder and everything unwinds again.

“No,” Magnus says, sounding thoughtful. “I suppose you didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's no more posting schedule and that has nothing to do with anything covered in the other author's note, for reference. With the posting schedule I (Saeth) didn't feel like I had to freedom to work on whatever I was currently motivated to work on and _had_ to work on TMFAR and that just.... doesn't work for me. At all. I'm new to writing and posting long fanfics. I thought this would work for me, but it doesn't, so I'm fixing it, because that's what self-care is. I love writing, but to do that, I need to be enjoying myself too.
> 
> I am actually sorry this chapter is later than intended. My panic attack on the 5th fucked me over. I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with panic attacks, but my recovery from them usually takes a few days, so I had to get through that before I could start working on TMFAR again. My feelings probably impacted Alec's headspace in this chapter _a lot_ but its appropriate so I'm not actually upset about that.
> 
> So, I'm not sure when the next chapter of TMFAR will be done, but it _will_ be posted as soon as I finish it, and I'll be working on other projects as inspiration strikes me. I guess we'll see how working like this goes, but I don't feel as stressed anymore even having made the decision to scrap the schedule and nothing else.


	7. llévame más alto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec likes being good at his job. Always has. It’s something Jace and Izzy like to make fun of him for, but no matter what reasoning they try to ascribe to it to explain why, it doesn't make it any less true.
> 
> Alec knows the job he should be working on being good at is his position as a spy for the Clave. That he should be taking full advantage of Magnus’s trust and _interest_ in him.
> 
> He’s… not going to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Magnus giving Alec piercings. It's not graphic and it's not realistically descriptive. TW for needles/piercings. Alec also minorly self-harms as an established coping mechanism. TW for brief self-harm.

Alec can’t stop rubbing his wrists. The bond isn’t physical — Alec knows  _ that _ much. He doesn’t understand it completely (and isn’t  _ that _ annoying, that he had such a bond with the Clave, albeit a watered down version, and  _ hadn’t know what it meant) _ but it’s functionally similar to his bond with Jace. Metaphysical bonds can cause physical sensations, but they  _ aren’t. _

So the fact that Alec can feel the weight of the chains wrapped around his wrists is something he  _ should  _ be ignoring, because they’re not really there.

This is new, though. His bond with Jace, as strong as it is, has never done anything like this. The chains are a strange weight around his wrists, tricking his brain into compensating for them when he doesn’t need to.

And it’s easier to think about this than last night.

Alec had fallen asleep. Naked, weaponless, surrounded by people who hate his kind — it hadn’t even been a  _ decision, _ he’d just… dozed off in Magnus’s lap, one of the other man’s hands in his hair while Magnus drank.

Alec had only half-woken when Magnus had decided they were done for the evening, portalling them back to the loft, stripping down and curling up with Alec in his bed.

Alec has never  _ slept _ with anyone other than his siblings before. Normally, the thought of letting someone that close to him while he’s vulnerable makes his skin crawl.

Magnus makes him feel  _ safe. _

The thing is… Alec honestly doesn’t believe that Magnus is doing anything that would justify execution. He believes in the law, yes, but… he’s learned, over the years, that there’s  _ leeway _ in how to interpret it.

How to turn the law to his advantage, the way he’s doing now.

Almost dying for the law when you’ve done nothing wrong will do that to you.

Alec tips his head to the side to study Magnus, bent intently over a diagram of a body and listening to another warlock speak.

Alec doesn’t think Magnus deserves to die because the Clave is afraid of him.

Not in the least because  _ Alec _ isn’t afraid of him, even knowing he should be.

(And if he feels the same way about how they’re treating  _ Jace, _ well… that’s his business.)

Alec likes being good at his job. Always has. It’s something Jace and Izzy like to make fun of him for, but no matter what reasoning they try to ascribe to it to explain why, it doesn't make it any less true.

Alec knows the job he should be working on being  _ good _ at is his position as a spy for the Clave. That he should be taking full advantage of Magnus’s trust and  _ interest _ in him.

He’s… not going to do that.

The thought makes his heart skip a beat and he closes his eyes, letting his breath blow out of him with a sigh.

They’ve been here an hour already, the people Magnus had assigned to work out whatever Samantha and Valentine had done to make the Forsaken giving Magnus their reports, which had contained a startling amount of information. Alec is impressed. He loves his sister, but there’s no way she would have been able to come up with nearly this much information in less than a day.

While they can’t pinpoint  _ why, _ they know, now, that the magic resistance comes from the combination of angel blood, demon blood, and runes.

The diluted angel blood — Seelie blood, not nephilim blood, which is important for a reason Alec didn’t quite follow — combined with pure demon blood had allowed them to set runes in a specific combination and pattern on the bodies, which in turn made magic just…  _ ripple,  _ cutting the strength of it to nearly nothing.

Which is concerning for a lot of reasons, because how do you even  _ come up with _ the idea that combining those three things, thinking it’ll end up being useful? There are half-bloods with two out of three all around the world and  _ none  _ of them can do anything like  _ this. _

Alec tunes back into the discussion with a sigh, opening his eyes again.  _ “—external  _ resistance, and it only applies to active and passive spells, not spellworked items.”

Alec feels like there’s a very important translation to that that he doesn’t know enough about magic to get.

A slow smile spreads across Magnus’s face, and the sight sends a thrill of electric heat through Alec. Oh, he’s definitely missing something, he thinks, lightheaded.

“Well,” Magnus drawls, sounding the word out. Alec has to suppress a noise.  _ “That  _ is an interesting design flaw.”

“Sire,” the warlock Magnus has been listening to says hesitantly, and it makes Alec feel a little better to know that he’s not the only one who doesn't get this, “what—”

Magnus plucks a chunk of metal from the air, the lights glinting off of it, drawing everyone’s eyes. Magnus tosses it up and catches it, once, twice — the third time, it stays in the air, rotating slowly. Magnus directs it into a spin with one finger. Alec watches, mesmerised, as it spins faster and faster, gaining velocity, until Magnus gives his fingers an absent  _ flick _ and it cracks through the air and punches a hole in the far wall.

Alec imagines for a moment what it would do to a Forsaken’s skull.

There’s a heady heat of arousal and fear dripping down his spine and he can’t help the way his breath catches when he drags his eyes back to Magnus and finds the other man looking at him, cat eyes sharp and that smirk still on his face.

"Blunt force trauma to the head," Magnus says, voice light and airy. He angles his head in Alec's direction. "Or not so blunt, as Alexander proved for us yesterday." He sounds… almost  _ playful _ and Alec has to catch his breath for a second because of all the things he ever expected to see from  _ Magnus Bane,  _ one of the most terrifying and powerful warlocks to ever walk the earth,  _ playfulness,  _ especially directed at someone like  _ Alec,  _ a  _ shadowhunter, _ it's…

_ Breathtaking. _

Magnus gestures one of the fae, who comes forward with a slight bow of their head. “Niamh,” he says with a smile that’s all teeth, “would you be a dear and coordinate with Alpha Garroway for patrol details? I want teams of five, a mage, a scout, a fighter…” he waves a hand dismissively. “You can handle it.”

“Yes, sire,” the dark-haired woman said, flashing sharp teeth at Magnus in a pleased smile. An Unseelie, if Alec had to guess.

“I’ll inform your queen of your new assignment next I see him,” Magnus says and she ducks her head in acknowledgement. A  _Seelie_ then.

Right. Magnus can apparently give the fae  _ assignments. _ That’s… definitely something that would raise flags for the Clave, if they knew about it. Alec wonders if that’s part of the information they talked around giving him.

“Two werewolves or a vampire,” Magnus continues, “or both, if you can get them to stop fighting long enough to work together. Make sure to impress upon everyone involved that infighting will  _ not _ be tolerated.”

“And shall we be providing weaponry for the vampires, sire?” Niamh asks, and Magnus tips his head thoughtfully.

“Tell Camille she can finally put that cache of drug runner’s guns to use,” Magnus says dismissively. “I’m sure she has someone running around with the skill to teach everyone the basics of how to  _ not _ shoot your comrades. And tell her if she doesn’t, Luke certainly does, and she can keep her mongrel comments to herself.”

Alec has to spend a complicated moment reminding himself to breathe, because his heart just stopped beating.

Vampires. With  _ guns. _

Not only is the thought terrifying — Alec is familiar enough to guns to know that, enhanced reflexes or not, he’s not capable of dodging a bullet — it’s a violation of the Accords.

...It’s  _ multiple _ violations of the Accords, because downworlders are forbidden from getting involved with organised crime, as a rule.

“Why not full squads?” Alec asks, to distract himself. He meets the fae’s eyes when she turns her attention on him. “No offense, but the Downworld doesn’t have a great track record of working together.”

“Is that what you think?” Magnus asks, waving a hand to encompass the room. Alec flushes lightly, because Magnus is right, there are representatives of all three kingdoms present, but that wasn’t quite what Alec meant.

“And are they going to trust each other’s backs with no training or previous experience working together?” Alec says.

Magnus crooks his fingers at Alec, and Alec only hesitates for a moment before he crosses the room to stand in front of Magnus. Magnus reaches out his hand, telegraphing his movement, and wraps it around Alec’s wrist.

For a moment, there’s nothing, and then there’s a warm pulse of magic that lights up the bond wrapped around his wrist, spreading through his body until every chain feels hot.

“Niamh,” Magnus says, idly, eyes on Alec’s, and the woman steps forward and holds her hand out for Magnus to take.

When he puts his hand in hers, Alec suddenly feels like he’s standing in a river, a solid weight at his back bracing him against the current’s flow.

“Do you really think,” Magnus asks, voice soft, “that you wouldn’t trust Niamh, if you were in battle together Alexander?”

Raziel, what…? Alec doesn’t fight it when Magnus brings their hands together and lets them go, just closes his fingers convulsively around Niamh’s.

Her eyes are wide and bright, reflecting the light of the room as she slowly smiles, her front teeth  _ sharp _ and Alec knows whatever she is — because that solid weight he feels at his side is  _ her, _ in the river — she’s a predator, even if she doesn’t look like one at first glance.

“Shadowhunter,” she says, a respect he didn’t expect in her voice. She dips her head, the way she did when she acknowledged Magnus.

Magnus laughs, jerking Alec out of his daze, and he pulls his hand away. The sensations fade. “Poor little shadowhunter,” Magnus says, sounding amused and unsympathetic. “That was a little much for you, wasn’t it?”

“I…” Alec trails off, dragging his eyes away from Niamh and looking at Magnus. The man looks self-satisfied.

“Answer my question, Alexander,” Magnus prompts.

“I’d trust her,” Alec says, looking at Niamh again, who looks pleased, then back at Magnus. “I didn’t…” he trails off, not sure how to finish that sentence, but Magnus seems to understand.

“I know,” Magnus says, then dismisses Niamh with a wave. “It’s not a crime to lack knowledge, Alexander.”

Alec doesn’t know how to respond to  _ that _ either. Luckily Magnus continues, clearly not expecting a response from Alec, at least not yet.

“If I don’t teach you, how are you supposed to learn?” Magnus says. “You’ll know better going forward, won’t you angel?”

It doesn’t sound like a question.

“Yes,” Alec agrees, throat dry, not sure if he’s agreeing that he won’t make this mistake again or to something else.

He’s allowed to mess up once with Magnus, he knows that. That’s already better than anything the Clave ever gave him.

“It’ll be easier with mixed squads,” Magnus continues. “Niamh will make sure there’s a fae on each of the squads, which will go a long way to easing tensions.”

Alec has no choice to believe him, but…

“The Seelie blood Valentine is using…” he says, checking Magnus’s expression and continuing when Magnus’s expression doesn’t change. “We don’t know how he’s getting the blood, is it a good idea to trust them?”

Magnus taps his fingers against Alec’s wrist. “Alexander, that’s not something you need to worry about.”

Alec can’t tell if Magnus is saying it’s not his problem, or that it’s not a possibility.

Alec isn’t sure he believes that, though. Even with what Magnus just showed him.

“If the Seelie are working with Valentine—” Alec starts, but Magnus cuts him off sharply.

“Melusine wouldn’t work with Valentine,” Magnus says.

Alec keeps his silence for a moment before venturing, “I know most downworlders dislike the Accords…” It’s a dangerous track and he knows it, but to dismiss the possibility out of hand… it rubs Alec the wrong way.

“Dislike is a mild word,” Magnus says, mildly.

Alec ducks his head and bites the inside of his cheek. He tastes the copper tang of blood and swallows it down, the taste and the sharp pain grounding him.

Magnus’s fingers wrap around his chin, startling him and making him jerk, but Magnus tightens his grip, keeping him still. There’s a sting of magic, like antiseptic flooding his mouth, and Alec feels the wound heal.

He stares at Magnus with wide eyes.

“Do not,” Magnus says, words clipped and precise, “do that again.”

“I—” Alec says, and swallows convulsively when Magnus’s gaze narrows in on his mouth. Alec licks his lips and tastes blood.

Magnus’s fingers tighten, digging into his chin.

“Did you have something to say?” Magnus asks, and Alec makes a noise of disagreement, too off balance to do anything else.

Magnus studies him for a long moment before letting him go. Alec brings his fingers to his cheek, where he’d bitten himself, unable to keep the disbelief off of his face.

“If there are Seelie working with Valentine, they’re doing it involuntarily or without the knowledge of their Queen,” Magnus says, watching Alec, face blank. Alec wishes he understood anything about what just happened. That Magnus was even a little easier to read, that the bond would give him a clue, like his bond with Jace does, normally.

He drops his hand away from his face to rub his wrist again, eyes cast down, and so completely misses Magnus following his movements.

“Then we should tell her,” Alec says, raising his eyes to look at Magnus. “If there’s a chance her people are working with Valentine behind her back…” He trails off.

“Yes,” Magnus agrees. “I’ll handle that later.”

So. Not Alec’s problem. He’s not used to things  _ not being his problem, _ even when he’s  _ not  _ directly responsible for handling something. It’ll… take some getting used to.

“Will I be joining them?” Alec asks, because… it didn’t sound like he would be, but this is what Alec is  _ trained for, _ and it would make sense to put him in, somewhere.

“No,” Magnus says. “I have better uses for you, darling. There’s no reason to provide such a tempting target for Valentine or your former comrades for such little gain.”

Alec shivers at Magnus’s words. He wants to tell Magnus that if he does nothing but warm Magnus’s bed he’ll go insane.

“Haven’t I taken good care of you so far, darling?” Magnus asks, like he heard what Alec was thinking. Alec thanks Raziel again that Magnus only seems to have a direct line into his head when sex is involved.

“Yes,” Alec says, when it becomes clear Magnus is waiting for an answer. He swallows, throat clicking, shivering again when Magnus’s eyes track the bob of his throat.

Magnus’s fingers brush over his lips for a brief moment before he turns away. “I have plans for you later, and if you’re good we’ll get you that race you missed tomorrow.”

_ I can be good, _ Alec thinks without any bite to the thought. His lips tingle from Magnus’s touch and his hands itch at the thought of  _ finally _ getting behind the wheel of his car and being allowed to unwind.

“Plans?” Alec asks, even though Magnus’s attention isn’t on him any more, hoping for a clue on what to expect.

“I can hardly let you walk around without making it clear who you belong to, can I?” Magnus asks.

* * *

Alec whines, desperate, as Magnus locks a ring around his dick. He’s smirking, and he taps the base of the plug inside him, jolting it against Alec’s prostate.

Alec knows what’s coming. Magnus had described it  _ vividly, _ told him everything he wants to do to him and  _ exactly _ how he plans to do it. He pushes it in, just slightly, so it’s a constant pressure against Alec’s prostate. “You ready, darling?”

He strains against the straps holding him down; feels the pressure against his arms, his thighs. It’s not a magical pressure, even though the bonds are made of magic, but it  _ is _ a pressure that lights up his nerves, sparking down his spine like lightning. It makes him shiver.

“Yes,” he says. Magnus smiles, a smile with too many too-white teeth, and taps the plug again just to make Alec jolt.

Then he turns it on.

Magnus had fucked him into incoherency the night they’d met, pinning Alec down over the hood of Magnus’s car, in front of  _ hundreds _ of downworlders — his whole court, the downworlders of New York.

This — Alec makes the mistake of imagining  _ this _ that night, imagining himself tied down and splayed out in front of  _ everyone, _ a toy in his ass and Magnus’s magnetic smile hovering above him. He remembers the second time something like that had happened; where Magnus had held him open and vulnerable in front of his court; imagines Magnus doing similar with  _ this— _

The feeling was already intense, but the thought of Magnus keeping him full and on edge in front of  _ everyone, _ somehow makes it  _ more so. _ Alec whines again, bucking his hips up into the restraints and Magnus’s hands.

“Fuck,” he gasps, voice breaking, “fuck,  _ Magnus.” _

“Oh, darling,” Magnus says, eyes alight with something Alec  _ thinks _ is a borderline sadistic glee, “I hope you’re not too overwhelmed yet. We have so much left to do.” 

Alec  _ knows _ that. Magnus had laid out this whole plan for him, in explicit detail; told him exactly how  _ pretty _ he’ll look, decorated in silver and marked with Magnus’s name. They’re  nowhere  _ near _ done. In fact, they’ve barely gotten started.

Magnus settles himself easily on Alec’s hips, their cocks brushing together, making Alec’s breath catch and has him arching up into the touch reflexively, but he doesn’t go anywhere.

Magnus laughs and settles himself more firmly, his thighs a pressure against Alec’s hips that makes him whine. “You want to be good for me, don’t you angel?” Magnus asks.

Alec forces himself to stay still even as he clenches down on the toy in his ass, swallowing hard. “Yes,” he says, fingers digging into the silky sheets as he fights to keep his body under control.

“Good,” Magnus says, smirking, eyes still alight with dark amusement. Alec moans, because Magnus has been torturing him with his hands and the toy and the  _ restraints _ for longer than Alec thought he could handle.

It’s not more than he can handle though. He  _ loves _ it. His muscles jump when Magnus runs his nails lightly down Alec’s chest, scratching over his nipples and down his abs, and Alec’s never found his nipples particularly  _ sensitive _ before, but Alec is so strung out right now that the sensation jolts through him and makes him moan.

Earlier Magnus had whispered into his ear, like a secret, that he would find that changed after Magnus was done. Alec imagines it, Magnus’s nails flicking over his nipple, over the ring Magnus is going to put through it, and has to close his eyes at the dizzying image painted in his mind.

“Stay still,” Magnus says, and Alec opens his eyes again because he can’t  _ not _ watch.

The needle is long and gleaming in Magnus’s hand, and Alec forces himself to stay perfectly still when Magnus braces a hand on his chest, magic gleaming.

It  _ hurts. _ He’d known it would, but it’s a fight to stay still, because he clenches down on the toy in him and the movement sends sparks of pleasure through him.

A strangled whine leaves his clenched teeth as the toy buzzes relentlessly against his prostate, the pain heightening his arousal in a way he didn’t think was possible, and when Magnus pulls his hand away, the needle gone and a small silver hoop now through his nipple, his muscles all unwind.

He blinks tears out of his eyes, because pain is usually a turn  _ off, _ but he’s fighting to not buck up against Magnus.

He’s pretty sure if Magnus hadn’t locked that ring around his cock he’d have come.

“You’re being so good for me,” Magnus says, sounding pleased, and Alec moans, cock leaking pre-come at his words. Magnus brushes his fingers through the tear-tracks Alec’s cheeks and Alec turns his face into Magnus’s hand, whimpering.

Magnus repeats the action again with his other nipple, blue magic sparking and Alec doesn’t manage to stay still this time, arching into Magnus’s hands as soon as the needle is through, riding out the wave of stinging pleasure and crying.

Magnus presses down on his chest firmly, pushing him back into the bed, and he stays still under the heat of Magnus’s hand as Magnus slips the ring through his nipple and closes the piercing.

Alec tries to get his breathing under control as Magnus pulls his hand away with a crackling glow of blue magic that leaves Alec’s skin tingling. Magnus is still smirking when he leans over to tap at Alec’s mouth with his free hand.

Alec opens his mouth, not because Magnus told him to, but because he can’t help but moan, because Magnus’s necklaces are dragging on his nipples and his new piercings and it goes straight to his dick.

Magnus laughs, and Alec sobs, because Magnus is sitting snug on his hips, necklaces dragging over his chest, and they’re twenty seconds away from shoving a needle through Alec’s tongue and it’s going to  _ hurt _ and he’s going to  _ like it. _

“Stick out your tongue, darling,” Magnus murmurs, pressing his finger down on Alec’s tongue when he obeys, because his tongue is already aching in anticipation but Magnus asked him to be good and Alec wants nothing more than to do that.

* * *

Magnus raises the needle again. He knows Alexander is fighting to listen, caught between how good the pain feels right now and how  _ strange _ that is for him; Magnus has him tied up so  _ beautifully,  _ unable to tell what hurts and what feels good anymore. The tear tracks on his face are distracting, 

When it pierces his flesh, Alexander makes a strangled noise, unable to cry out because of how he’s trapped with Magnus’s magic. Magnus makes a soft soothing noise even as the noise makes his body hot, using magic to thread the silver bar through Alexander’s tongue and then lets him go.

Alexander closes his mouth with a whimper, swallowing the saliva that had pooled in his mouth and wincing at the pull on his tongue at the action.

Fuck, he’s  _ gorgeous _ when he’s crying. It’s why Magnus did it like this; wanted Alexander to lean into the pain even as he wanted to shy away, because Magnus has made him feel good.

Magnus wants him out of his head. Wants to pluck all the strings that have him so tied up, unravel them until he falls apart in Magnus’s hands. And Alexander wants that too, which makes it all the more beautiful to see.

“Almost done,” Magnus murmurs, brushing his finger over Alexander’s lip as he banishes the needle and conjures up a new one. “You’ve been so good for me, darling, just one more time.”

Alexander whines, blinking up at him through clumped lashes, and Magnus can see him fighting himself, torn between saying  _ ‘no’ _ and saying  _ ‘yes’. _

Magnus brushes his thumb over Alexander’s bottom lip and feels the shudder that goes through Alexander’s body. He can’t help the smirk that ticks up the corners of his mouth, because Alexander wants to give in to Magnus more than he wants  _ anything _ else and what sort of person would he be if he didn’t take full advantage of that?

Well. Possibly a better man than he is, but a better man wouldn’t have this gorgeous nephilim spread out beneath him, crying and desperate.

“Last one,” he reminds, raising the needle and catching Alexander’s lip between fingers sparking bright with magic. Alexander forces himself still, and Magnus is greatly looking forward to testing the limits of his training at some point but for now, it works in their favor.

After the pain of his tongue, his boy barely even whimpers at the sharp pain in his lip, letting Magnus slip the ring in — bearing his initials worked into the metal in a way that no one will ever miss — without protest.

Magnus nearly purrs at the sight Alexander makes right now; shaking and crying, cock leaking against his stomach with black lines of leather restraining him.

He leans down and licks at the line of tears on Alexander’s cheek, smiling when Alexander turns his head to the side to give Magnus better access.

There’s a bitten-off moan that sounds like an attempt at his name when Magnus pulls away, necklaces dragging across Alexander’s chest again, to flick the vibrator off and pull it out with a flick of his wrist.

Alexander arches off the bed at the sensation, then cries out when Magnus slides into him, hands clawing at Magnus’s arms as fresh tears spill down his cheeks.

“Mgn’s,” he slurs out, tongue clumsy, body shaking as he cock jerks against his stomach,  _ “please.” _

He’s whining, torn between how good Magnus fucking him feels and the four hot points of pain, the sound punching out of him every time Magnus’s thrusts jolt him, even  _ moaning _ setting off the sting that’s sure to be present in his tongue.

Magnus almost comes at the  _ noise _ Alexander makes when he bites down on his bottom lip on accident, a shocked moan as he shudders under Magnus’s body, thighs tightening against Magnus’s body.

Magnus can pinpoint every time he  _ hasn’t _ come because he  _ can’t _ and the number isn’t low. Magnus had  _ worked _ to prevent him from coming, working him up then pulling away at just the last second, before he even slid the toy in him, fucked Alexander with his fingers while his pretty boy  _ begged. _

“You’ve been so good,” Magnus says, magic sparking on his fingers and down over Alexander’s cock, prompting another  _ whine, _ “you deserve a reward, darling.”

The magic sparks, swells, and the ring sitting snug around the base of Alexander’s cock disappears. Magnus groans when Alexander comes, fingers digging into his hips as Magnus keeps fucking him, because Alexander has denied himself for  _ so long _ that  _ too much _ is barely enough.

Then Alexander bites down on his lip again,  _ deliberately, _ body arching as he gives a strangled moan, and the feel of Alexander shaking apart around him,  _ hurting himself —  _ just a little, because he  _ felt _ how much Magnus enjoyed that earlier — Magnus groans again and comes.

It’s  _ exquisite. _

Alexander whines when Magnus pulls out, clutching weakly at him in an attempt to keep him close, but instead Magnus lets his magic sweep over Alexander’s body, banishing the magic holding him down.

“Come see what you look like, darling,” Magnus invites. He lets Alexander collect himself, honestly proud by how quickly he gets himself on his feet despite how shaking he is — although,  _ later, _ he wants to find out what it takes to make it so Alexander can’t manage that — before wrapping a hand around his wrist and guiding him gently to the full length mirror.

Alexander’s pupils are blown as he takes in his appearance in the mirror. Magnus feels his breath catch as he raises a hesitant hand to one of the gleaming silver rings in his nipples, shivering all over when he brushes his fingers over it. Magnus brushes his fingers over Alexander’s, pressing down harder than Alexander had dared, catching him with an arm around his waist when Alexander almost buckles, head thrown back with a moan.

“Fuck,” he slurs out, voice breaking the word in half, fingers of one hand trapped under Magnus’s and the other wrapped around Magnus’s wrist.

Magnus imagines it hurts to talk. Magnus lifts his hand away from the ring and presses his fingers lightly to Alexander’s jaw, turning his head so that Magnus can press their lips together.

Magnus tightens his grip on Alexander’s waist when his boy barely hesitates to part his lips and let Magnus in, moaning in pleasure when Magnus sweeps cool magic into his mouth, easing the sting of pain from the piercing.

He pulls away and licks the phantom imprint of his initials off his own lips.

“Gorgeous,” he says, feeling Alexander shiver against him again, eyes wide and dark.

“And all mine,” he says, brushing his fingers across the ring in Alexander’s lip.

Alexander shivers and leans into his touch. The way he looks — come dripping down his thighs, covered in silver he put himself in Magnus’s hands to receive, Magnus’s  _ name _ on his lips, leaning into Magnus’s touch — speaks louder than anything he could make himself say, and they both know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm curious: What do _you_ think the imagery will be for Magnus's half of the bond settling? I already have it planned but I'm curious to hear what you guys might have come up with. Added bonus - if anyone guesses right, they can give us a prompt. (If there are multiple people who get it right we'll deal with that if it happens.) Leave a comment with what you think it might be!
> 
> For obvious reasons, I can't confirm or deny any of the guesses until it comes up in the fic, but I'm keeping track and I'll be going back and replying to them all after that's covered!

**Author's Note:**

> We'll be tracking the #tmfarfic tag on tumblr and twitter!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Are you holding court ? (Snap my choker)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435811) by [Miss_Shiva_Adler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Shiva_Adler/pseuds/Miss_Shiva_Adler)




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